Lonely Light of Morning
by Stoneage Woman and Warriora
Summary: Dean Winchester was dead, and Sam was one hunt-gone-wrong away from following. Chris Halliwell was just one more demon away from saving Wyatt- until Paige receives Sam for a charge, and Chris' plans crash into the limelight. No Slash.
1. Prologue

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 1: Prologue

A/N: Hey people! We, that is Warriora and Stoneage Woman, figured that since we love each other's writing and have both beta-read for each other, we could try working as a team on a Charmed/Supernatural fanfic. We stand before you after much trans-continental chatting on G-talk, many late nights, some obsessive planning, and much paranoia. A couple of things you should make note of before we begin- this fic obviously messes with the timelines of cannon a little- Season 3 of Supernatural takes place in 2007-08, and Charmed Season 6 took place in 2004, so it's technically impossible for the two timelines to coinside like this. But hey, that's why they call it artistic lisence, right? Also, we're both completely mental. That means much gore, angst, and trauma. Consider yourselves warned! We are so excited to be working on this project together. Happy reading!

* * *

_We believed that we could change ourselves  
The past could be undone  
But we carry on our backs the burden  
Time always reveals  
The lonely light of morning  
The wound that would not heal  
It's the bitter taste of losing everything  
That I have held so dear._

_- Sarah McLachlan, "Fallen."_

* * *

Sam Winchester's grip on the wooden stake tightened as he rounded the next dark corner- but it had been an unnecessary action. The shadowed alley was empty.

Still not convinced his prey had merely fled in fear, Sam hung close to the leaky concrete building and edged into the alley, his eyes sharp and gleaming eerily in the silver moonlight. The night's hunt was far from over.

Just as he was considering moving on to the next dark alleyway, a quiet, rustling noise caught his attention. Without a sound and hardly a movement, he melted into the shadows and concentrated on the direction of the noise. As he stared harder and harder, he was able to make out a dark silhouette beneath a fire escape ladder. A shift in the clouds and moonlight revealed a young woman, curled tightly in a ball with her long blond hair blanketed over her frame. Even from across the alley, Sam could see her shaking and trying to make her quivering breaths as noiseless as possible.

_What an act_, a snide voice drawled inside his head. A smirk twisted the corners of his lips.

Using the darkness to his advantage, Sam slipped across the passageway and crept up close behind her. She stiffened and stopped breathing entirely when his foot disturbed a small puddle by her hand. Her saucer-wide eyes shot up to meet his and a scream erupted from her throat at the sight of him. Without a moment's hesitation, Sam clasped a calloused hand over her mouth and used his position to drag her up and slam her into the stone wall. She instantly kicked out and tried to run, but Sam held fast.

Adjusting his position so that he could hold her against the wall with one arm, Sam used his other arm to swing back the wooden stake. Just as he plunged it forward, though, the vampire girl shot under his arm and took off at a frantic sprint.

_She knows I have a stake_, Sam thought, only pausing momentarily before taking off after her. _Why doesn't she turn into a bat or use super-speed?_

He shoved the chilling doubt aside roughly. He had done the research. He had done hours of investigation. The results all pointed to the same conclusion: _Annie Hicks was a vampire_. She was. End of story. …She was just a very stupid vampire, apparently.

Sam tackled the girl to the ground before she even reached the end of the alleyway. She started to scream again, but Sam was prepared this time. Without a word to her, he gripped the stake so tightly he felt the skin on his palm tear then drove it through her chest.

The scream she let out was bloodcurdling. Even Sam was taken aback by the sheer pain and terror in its glass shattering tones.

After a few more seconds, the girl's breathing stopped, and a single drop of blood trickled from her lips. She was dead.

_Why isn't she turning to ash? _Sam stood, feeling the adrenaline seep away quickly. Something wasn't right. She was a vampire. Vampires turned to ash. _Why wasn't she?_

He swallowed hard and pulled the stake out of Annie's chest. He was positive. He had been positive. This girl… the deaths that surrounded her… the motive, the lack of human evidence… it _had_ to have been her…. There was no one else it could have been. It _was_ Annie Hicks.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He was right. She was supernatural, or at least _dealing_ with the supernatural. She deserved death, and Sam had given it to her.

Without another thought on the matter, Sam pulled out his machete and brought it forcefully down upon her neck. He didn't even flinch as her still-warm blood splattered across his face.

* * *

"Guys, this is ridiculous. You can't just keep putting demon vanquishes on hold like this. I get that you have your lives, but this is your job! And besides, this demon might be the one that hurts-"

"Don't even say it, mister," Phoebe growled, frustrated, as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She was already late for work. "Have you ever heard that story, about the boy who kept crying 'wolf' so that people stopped believing him when there really was one? You can only use the same excuse so many times before your sheep get killed, Chris."

"_Sheep?_ You're comparing Wyatt to _sheep?"_ Chris stared at her incredulously.

"Okay, so maybe I have to work on my analogies a little," Phoebe conceded, blushing a little.

"I think you've been spending too much time in Hong Kong. And by the way? _Unlike_ the boy who cried 'wolf,' I am _not_ lying about the existence of these demons!" He exclaimed, "I just don't _know_ exactly what got to Wyatt in my future! And anyway, it's your job to vanquish demons! You're a freaking Charmed One!"

"Chris, lay _off_ already wouldja?" Paige said as she came in, and, to Chris's irritation, she was already dressed for work. "You really need to lighten up a little, have some fun. Remember _fun?"_

"Like I told you guys before, I didn't _come_ here to have fun," Chris snapped. He knew losing his temper was probably not the best way to get them to come demon-hunting, but their attitudes were _really_ starting to piss him off.

Paige threw up her hands. "Sorry I spoke."

"And as for _my_ job, I can't be late for it again, or Elise will kill me." Phoebe stood, draining the last of her coffee. "I know it's not my _only _job, but it's the one that pays most of the bills around here. So, if you don't mind, or even if you do, actually, I am out of here."

"That makes two of us," Paige said, following her out of the room. "Sorry, Chris, but I really have to-"

"No! No way! I am not going after a demon that you are supposed to take care of, alone, _again! _You can't just-"

"Saved by the jingle," Paige interrupted, looking skyward. "Sorry, Chris, but the Elders are a-calling…" Normally she wasn't a fan of the Elders, and she _did_ have to go to work, but their call had at least spared her from Chris's endless nagging. "Toodles!" She said brightly, waving and orbing out before he could say anything.

"No, wait! Damn it!" Completely frustrated, Chris kicked at the carpet, swearing colorfully.

"Hey, Mr. Potty Mouth," Piper said, eyebrows raised as she entered the room. "What's wrong with you this morning?"

She poured herself the last of the coffee and stood leaning over the kitchen counter as she sipped it. "Piper, I need your help vanquishing the demon I told you about yesterday," He said, "It'll be really difficult to take on without the power of the Charmed Ones. You have to help me, or get Paige or Phoebe to help me."

"Paige and Phoebe have their own lives, and so do I," Piper said. "Can't the demon wait till later?"

"No, it can't. I'm on a tight schedule here." And the fact that it was taking him twice as long to fight demons without their help was _not_ helping keep up with it. There were just _so many _threats to take care of.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I have a date with Gregg. And considering that on our last date, I had to freeze him and take off _again_ without any explanations, I owe him. So I'm going to eat breakfast, and you are _not_ going to interrupt me halfway through my date unless Phoebe and Paige have turned into demons _and_ the house is on fire."

"Can't you go later today?" Chris pleaded, "Lunch-date? Dinner? Who the hell has breakfast dates, anyway? Please, Piper, I _really_ need your help on this one. It's an Upper Level demon, and an exceptionally powerful one at that."

"Gregg works during the day, Chris, and I have a nightclub to run, so this is the only time. And anyway, I can't keep rescheduling my life around demon vanquishes."

"Uh, yeah, you can! It's your _job!"_

"So I'm not entitled to a normal life at all, just because I'm a Charmed One? Is that what you're saying?" Chris didn't say anything, knowing that whatever he said would only antagonize her further when she was in this mood. "I thought so. And you should keep in mind that I've been doing this for a lot longer than you have, Chris, so I think I _know_ what my _job_ is."

"This could be the demon that gets to Wyatt," Chris said, though he already knew it would do nothing to convince her.

"Yeah, like every other demon you've told us to vanquish since you came here," Piper said, skeptical. "Come on, Chris. Wyatt's with Leo for the day- he's perfectly safe, unless you do something to go and change that." There was a warning in her voice; she still hadn't been able to forgive him for lying to them about being a whitelighter.

"I'm trying to_ save _him," Chris said through clenched teeth, angry and hurt by her distrust, "But your normal life is clearly more important to you than your son, so have fun on your _date."_ The moment the words escaped his mouth, he regretted saying them.

"Get out of my house," She said coldly.

"Piper-"

"You don't have a right to talk to me like that," Piper said, and her words were like a million sharp needles piercing his heart. "And you certainly have no right to talk to me about how much Wyatt means to me, or about how I choose to raise him."

"Piper-"

"Shut up. I've heard just about enough-"

"Look, I'm sorry okay?" Chris said, knowing when to quit where his mother (future mother, he reminded himself) was concerned. "I shouldn't have said it."

"You're damn right you shouldn't have," Piper said angrily, "Please, just leave Chris. Don't come back for a couple of days, because I don't think I can stand the sight of you right now."

Chris flinched. _My mother can't stand the sight of me._ "I need," He faltered. "The Book of Shadows, I need to-"

Piper sighed in frustration. "Fine. Stay. But you'd better be out of here by the time I come back." She turned on her heel and strode out of the room, and a moment later, the front door slammmed shut.

Chris sighed, dropping into a chair and burying his face into his hands. _Damn it._ He hated this- hated arguing with the sisters, and particularly Piper. And he hated the fact that he had to boss over them so much to get anything done. Not that that always worked. Once again, they had left him alone to vanquish a really powerful demon which they _knew_ would be much harder for him to vanquish without them. Not that he couldn't take care of a demon without their help (after all, he was the son of a Charmed One and a whitelighter), but these weren't ordinary circumstances. He couldn't use all his powers for fear that the Elders would sense how powerful he was and start asking questions. And that meant going up against an Upper Level demon only able to use half his powers- _not good._

Sighing, he orbed up to the attic. He had work to do.

* * *

"This had better not take too long; I have to go to the temp-agency this morning," Paige told Leo the moment she orbed in front of him.

Leo raised his eyebrows slightly at the harried look and the uncharacteristic lack of greeting. "Blessed be, Paige," He said pointedly.

"Sorry. Hi. Chris has already put me in a foul mood, and I'm half an hour late for work already, so excuse me if I'm not a bundle of sunshine this morning."

Leo nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this Paige, but you're going to have to call in a sick or something. You're being assigned a charge."

"_What?_ Leo, no, I can't handle-"

"You're going to have to, Paige. I know it sucks, but he's important. He's got a destiny- he's supposed to rid the world of some great future evil, and he's been straying from his path. And now it's reached a point where we have to intervene."

"And they just had to pick me as his whitelighter," Paige said flatly. "I'm sorry, Leo, but I can't manage this with everything else that's going on. You're just going to have to assign him to someone else."

But Leo was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Paige, but it _has _to be you."

"_Why?_ There are, like, hundreds of other whitelighters here who are much more experienced than I am-"

"It _has_ to be you because his destiny apparently involves you guys. The Haliwells."

"Well, can you tell me something about this guy at least? What does he do? What do you mean he's been straying from his path?"

"No. You'll have to find out on your own. The Elders haven't even told _me._ Whatever it is, it's really important. They think you need to figure this out on your own, because you're all directly involved."

"Great. That's just peachy." She felt like banging her head against a wall in frustration. "I don't have a choice in this, do I?"

Richard was going to _love_ this. So much for 'Magic-Lite.'

"I'm afraid not." He hesitated. "And you might want to get moving on this one as fast as you can. He's important."

"You mentioned that." She took a deep breath, steeling herself, trying to let go of all her frustration. "Fine. I'll go now- as soon as you assign him to me and I start sensing him. But can I at least know the guy's _name _first?"

"Sam Winchester. His name is Sam Winchester."

* * *

_Downtown Atlanta is gross_, Paige mentally declared as she surveyed the damage to her new shoes. The unidentifiable slime on some of the streets had her shivering in her very skin. She was quickly coming to regret her decision to orb a few blocks away from her charge so that she wouldn't scare him on their first meeting. Since Leo hadn't even told her if "Sam" was magical, she was assuming he wasn't. But if he and the Halliwells' destinies were connected… he had to learn about magic sooner or later, if he didn't already know.

One last look at her ruined shoes convinced her. She sensed for him, found him alone, and orbed straight there…

…Just in time to see a young woman's head rip from her body, and the young man responsible whip around to face her.

She didn't even have time to speak before a gun was pointed at her and pain exploded in her abdomen.

Only a small choking noise escaped her throat as her knees gave out and she folded to the ground, clutching her stomach. She had barely even registered that he had shot her with something blunt- for she wasn't bleeding- before even more pain exploded in her shoulder, knocking her backwards to the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her lungs to take in air through the blinding pain, but she couldn't. She opened her mouth, to scream, to call for help, to tell him to stop, to do _anything_, but no sound would come out. She was too numb to even orb.

Then she heard the sound of a gun being reloaded, and fear flooded her veins like ice-cold battery acid. She opened her mouth to cry out, to say anything, but was saved by the miraculous arrival of orbs.

Suffice to say, Paige was immediately sorry for anything bad she had ever said to or about Chris, especially when he lashed out an arm and tore the gun telekinetically from her crazed charge's grasp. The weapon made a resounding _crack_ as it hit the stone wall and clattered to the ground, just as Sam shot to his feet. The Winchester faced Chris with a slightly insane glint in his dark eyes.

Paige managed to haul herself into a sitting position just in time to see surprise and recognition wash over Chris' paled features. Without a thought to her presence, the neurotic whitelighter breathed faintly, "_Sam_?"

"What are you two?" Sam demanded, his voice raised to a yell and his fists clenched at his sides. He appeared to have missed the soft admittance from the otherwise closed half-breed. "If you guys are spirits, then how the hell are you corporeal? It's impossible!"

"We're not spirits," ground out Paige, who was hauling herself stiffly to her feet and watching Chris' strange expression carefully. "Chris?" she ventured hesitantly when he continued to ignore her.

Chris blinked furiously as though trying to clear his head and looked, confused, over to Paige. But the Charmed One didn't seem to be able to hold his attention, for his eyes wandered almost immediately back to Sam, who was now looking suspiciously between the two magical ones.

Sam and Chris' eyes caught, and, for a split second, some understanding seemed to flick between them.

Sam's eyes narrowed, calculating and perplexed. But he had already realized what his mind couldn't make sense of.

"Do I… _know_ you?"

* * *

TBC…


	2. Don't Know Why I'm Here

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 2: Don't Know Why I'm Here

A/N: We started writing this before the season finale of Supernatural aired, but have found, surprisingly, that our story is strangely compatible to what happened in that episode. Speaking of which, was _that_ unexpected. It's going to be along and painful summer, isn't it. Anyway, we've decided to follow Season 3 canon for this story, which means that there are going to be SPOILERS for the Season 3 finale. Just thought we'd warn you…

* * *

_Sometimes I wonder why I'm here at all  
A thousand faces yet I'm feeling so alone  
A whispers calling me you speak my name  
How can I save you when I couldn't save myself?_

_- Full Blown Rose, "Burden of Sacrifice."_

* * *

"Do I… _know_ you?"

Chris wasn't fast enough to cover his blunder. All words had escaped him, and before he knew it, Paige was staring at him as well.

"Chris… do you know him… in the future?" she asked haltingly, eyes squinted in both confusion and pain. She was clutching her stomach loosely as she carefully maneuvered to get a better view of her whitelighter. The completely disoriented expression on his face was utterly unfamiliar- and disconcerting to say the least. _What was going on?_

"Future?" Sam demanded louly before Chris even had a chance to respond. He took a step back, his hand moving slowly to his jacket as he hissed, "What are you people? Did Lilith send you? Is _that_ it? Well, you can tell h-"

"No- no one sent us-" Paige began, but stopped abruptly, clutching her abdomen with an expression of severe pain.

Chris instantly saw this and moved as though to kneel beside her, but Sam suddenly whipped a dagger out of his jacket.

"Liars!" he shouted as he leapt at them.

"No!" Chris declared hastily as he ducked beneath the vicious slash. He was holding his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "We don't even know who Lilith is!" he lied quickly, stumbling back farther. "The only reason we're here is to_help_ you!"

"Yeah, we're witches- _good_ witches," Paige said through tightly clenched teeth. Her entire body was becoming taut with pain. There had to be some internal damage, she knew through the slight haze in her mind. There was no way bruising hurt this badly….

"There's no such thing," Sam hissed angrily, but something in his dark eyes seemed to shift as he said it. His grip on the dagger tightened, as though re-steeling his resolve. "There's always something in it for you! Don't you lie to me!"

"We're _not lying_," Chris said, and Paige noticed his voice sounded strained.

Her mind went even hazier. Who exactly was this Sam guy that was throwing Chris' impenetrable mask to the winds? Chris _had_ to know him in the future. There was nothing else that could explain this reaction. So, what _the hell_was going on?

"You know what?" said Chris with an edge of coldness, finally seeming more like his old guarded self as he brazenly knelt down next to Paige and took her shoulder. "We'll let you sleep on it."

Paige let Chris pull her to her feet, and she reluctantly leaned on him in her sudden vertigo from standing up. Without another word to Sam Winchester, they orbed away.

The moment they reached the Manor, Paige turned on Chris furiously, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the obvious pain on her face. "Alright, mister, just who the hell is he?" she demanded, wincing slightly. "How…._ow_…how the hell do you know him?"

Chris ignored her question, guiding her to the sofa and forcing her down on it gently. He had no strength to answer her questions at that moment. Seeing Sam standing in front of him, _alive_, had shaken him up, and he was still recovering from the shock. Although, he chided himself, it should not have been a shock. Sam being assigned as a charge to Paige had happened in his timeline as well; in fact, it had been a landmark event in the Charmed Ones' history. He couldn't believe it had slipped his mind so completely. And he was absolutely _furious_ with himself for letting slip the fact that he knew Sam. Paige tensed, her eyes squeezing shut in pain as she tried to lie back, and that snapped Chris out of his thoughts at once. First things first- Paige had to be healed. Getting shot at was far from pleasant, even if the bullets were made of rock salt.

"Leo!" he called out. As usual, the Elder failed to show, no doubt thinking that Chris was calling him to talk him into getting the sisters to help on a demon vanquish. It wouldn't have been the first time. "Leo!" he called again, this time more loudly. "Paige! Hurt! Healing! _Now!"_

That did the trick, and Leo materialized a moment later wearing a look of concern. "What happened?" he asked as he stretched out his hands to heal Paige.

"What happened? _What happened?_ My charge just tried to kill me, that's what happened!"

"What?" Leo asked, his eyes widening in shock.

"He shot me," Paige said. "They weren't real bullets but they still hurt like hell. Leo, I thought you said this guy had a destiny of _good?"_

"He does," Chris said before he could stop himself, and then cringed.

Leo and Paige immediately looked in Chris's direction, suspicion identical on both their faces. "How do you know?" Leo asked.

"He _knows_ him," Paige answered when Chris kept silent, "He recognized him the second he saw him."

"I know Sam in the future," Chris said, because he knew that Paige had already figured that one out. "I wasn't expecting to see him- it took me by surprise."

"Yeah, you and me both," Paige muttered. "I was expecting a charge in need of comfort and guidance, and instead I get a homicidal maniac who after ripping off a woman's head with a machete, proceeds to _shoot_ me." She looked up at Leo. "You know how you said he was straying from his destiny? I think he's gone _way_beyond that. I think he's already been turned." She shuddered slightly as she remembered the expression on Sam's face as he had killed the girl.

"He's not past redemption," Chris said, seeing where she was going with this was going immediately. He felt a flash of irritation. He knew Sam had freaked Paige out badly by shooting at her like that, but Charmed Ones didn't scare that easily. No, he had a feeling that the real reason Paige was so eager to give up having a charge was because she didn't want to use magic too much for Richard's sake, although she probably wouldn't have admitted that to herself. "This was meant to happen," he said. "You're _supposed_ to take him on as a charge. If you don't help him, he'll never be able to do what he's supposed to do." But doubt stirred in Chris even as he said the words. Sam _had_ fulfilled his supposed destiny, but _somehow_, and Chris would very much have liked to know how, Wyatt had found a way around it. He had undermined everything Chris and Sam had strived for…what one of them had died for.

In the meantime, Paige was looking at him like he had lost his mind. "Did you not see what I saw down there?" she demanded. "He killed an _innocent_, Chris! In cold blood! And he didn't even flinch!"

He debated how much to tell her. The first time around, it had been Leo who had rescued Paige from Sam. He didn't really know what had happened after that, but he knew that whatever they'd found out about Sam, they'd done it on their own. "Not everything is the way it appears, Paige," he said finally. "I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. All I have to say is that the Elders assigned him to you for a reason. You have a duty to fulfill and if you don't do it, you'll screw up the future even worse than it already is."

"The _future,_" Paige said, sounding both irritated and fed up at the same time. "Right, of course. It _would_ be about that- it always is, with you."

Chris's anger flared at the words, but he quelled it immediately. He had no intention of losing his temper again. "Look, I'm sure Leo agrees with me. You tell her- she _is_meant to do this, right?"

"I don't know, Chris," Leo said. "Maybe the Elders got it wrong on this one. Maybe we really shouldn't trust this guy."

Chris stared at him for a moment, and then it clicked. "You mean, you shouldn't trust him because he knows me in the future, don't you?" he said, completely exasperated with the man in front of him. When Leo refused to look him in the eye, he snorted softly in disgust. "Unbelievable. I get that you guys don't trust me, but I never thought I'd see the day when you would let that get in the way of doing your jobs."

"Can you honestly blame us for not trusting you?" Leo retorted. "Everyday since you came here; you've been lying to us."

Chris looked at him, and suddenly felt unbearably exhausted. "Fuck this," he said, and ignored the way Leo's eyebrows shot up at the profanity. He could _not_ do this right now. Not _today_- not after seeing Sam Winchester alive again after two years. "You guys just…do what you want," he said tiredly. "Obviously, nothing I say is going to make the slightest difference."

He orbed out, not even bothering to wait for their response.

* * *

"…and I really don't know if I should try to help him or not," Paige finished. She glanced around at her sisters, "What do you guys think?"

"I don't know. If he killed an innocent…" Phoebe frowned, shaking her head, because it didn't make any sense. "But then, the Elders wouldn't have assigned him to you unless they had a good reason."

"That's exactly what I'm confused about, too," Paige said, "I mean, he's my _charge._ He's supposed to be an innocent in need of guidance and protection. But the way he killed that girl…" She shuddered yet again at the memory. "And then there's the fact that Chris knows him in the future. How do we even know Chris isn't lying again? What if Sam is _from_the future, like Bianca?"

Piper was about to say something in reply, but was interrupted by the sight of orbs. A moment later, Leo had materialized in front of her. "So I talked to the Elders," Leo said, "And they insist that you were meant to take on Sam as charge. But they also trust your judgment. If you_really_ feel that he's past saving, they'll re-assign you."

"The Elders trust our judgment?" Piper asked in surprise, "Since when?"

Leo hesitated. "Since I talked them into it," he admitted finally, embarrassed, because technically, he wasn't a part of this family anymore, and vouching for them was an indication of how much he continued to believe in them and care about them.

Piper looked uncomfortable too, and dropped her eyes, but Phoebe looked at him gratefully, and said, "Thanks, Leo."

"That still doesn't decide the question of whether or not to help him, though," Paige interjected. "If anything, it makes things worse. If I don't agree to help him, no one else will. The Elders are prepared to give him up as a lost cause on our word alone."

They all felt the pressure of that, and fell silent, thinking.

"I don't think we could live with ourselves if we give up on him now and discover some years from now that we could have done something to help him," Piper said at last. "But we have to keep in mind that he's probably past saving. I mean, Chris knew him in the future, right? And it sounds to me like he was really jolted by seeing him. I don't think we can trust either of them until they give us better reason to."

"Then what are we going to do?" Phoebe asked.

"I think we should summon this Sam Winchester guy without telling Chris anything about it. We can put him in a crystal cage and question him under a truth spell. Then we'll know if we can trust him- and maybe we'll find out something about Chris, too, in the bargain."

"Piper!" blurted Phoebe in surprise. "We can't just go around trapping people in crystal cages and forcing them under truth spells! What are you _thinking_?"

Piper gave Phoebe a Look. "I'm _thinking_," she began with delicate stress, "that this guy is dangerous, and he's obviously around in the future. What if he's the one that gets to Wyatt, and we never saw it coming because we didn't take the time to question him? And besides," she added, as if this last reason would explain everything, "we can't just let him run amuck and leave Paige to deal with it by herself."

Phoebe squirmed, still looking uncomfortable with the idea of using magic against an innocent, but she eventually sighed in defeat. "Yeah, I guess we do have to trap him and cast the truth spell on him…."

"That's a good idea," Paige said, sighing in relief. "Thanks for this, Piper. I know he's supposed to be my charge- I should be able to handle this alone."

"Hey. In this family, we do things together. No one handles _anything_ alone. You got that, Paige?"

And yet, though they did not know it, a member of their family was sitting atop Golden Gate Bridge, trying to handle_everything_ alone.

* * *

The wind was frigid, but this was nothing new. Neither was the icy rain that struck like needles, or the eerie lapping of dark waves in the night, or the heavy sensation in his chest, or the burning feeling in his throat. Nothing about this godforsaken night was new. Some things would never change, no matter what he did in the past.

Without the fear one would expect for doing such an action, Chris leaned back on the round, wet steel beam and closed his eyes. For a moment, his eyelids flickered at the sensation of misty rain falling on them, but he kept them closed. He needed the darkness, otherwise impossible to find with the constant city lights. He needed the quiet and the solitude, and this was the only place where he could get those things in the past, as sad as that seemed.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Seeing Sam like that, so lost and terrified, and so on the verge of evil…he shuddered slightly. He had always known, of course, from his family's stories and clipped references to it, what Sam had been like after Dean had died. But actually seeing it, actually _seeing_ the man who had been so completely dedicated to good ever since Chris was a child, acting so brutally and shooting so thoughtlessly was another thing entirely. _Why_, he wondered, was everyone in his life on the verge of turning evil? He quickly shook the thought off, knowing that Sam, at least, was destined for something entirely different. Not that it had done him much good, for though Sam had fulfilled his destiny, there had been a cost. _There's always a fucking cost._ And now it all seemed so pointless, anyway...

Slowly, he rolled onto his side and looked out over the dark, tumultuous bay. Unable to stop himself from thinking about it any longer, he let his mind wander back to the last time he had come across a Winchester, not one month ago.

_:Flashback:_

"_I don't have a choice," Chris snapped, though his heart was racing. This was his only shot to get some message across. This was the only chance he would get… "She stripped my powers. …Looks like Leo's gonna have to fix that floorboard without me." Praying to any deity listening that they understood, he turned back to Bianca and muttered, "Let's go."_

_Bianca's expression was guarded as she opened the portal and began to walk forward. His expression just as guarded, Chris followed her to the place that haunted his worst nightmares._

_On the other side, there was no grand reception. There were no theatrics. No raging battle; no horde of demons. No sympathy. There were only two: an unnaturally calm witch, and an unnaturally snarky demon._

_Chris had been expecting the first, but he froze with shock at the sight of the second. _

"_Welcome home, Chris," Wyatt said, taking a few slow steps forward so that the dim attic light streamed a mixture of shadows and light across his face._

_Chris wasn't looking at him, though. "What the fuck?" he managed to get out. "You're supposed to be dead!" Sam had died because of him, for fuck's sake!_

_Wyatt snorted. "Oh, please," he said. "You should know better than to think something like that could stop me. If I could resurrect him once, don't you think I could do it again?"_

_Dean grinned wolfishly at him as he, too, stepped into the light. "Hello to you too, Chrissie. Is that any way to greet an old friend? It's been too long."_

_Chris pulled himself together with an effort. "On the contrary, it hasn't been long enough," he snapped._

_Dean shrugged. "Well, we can make up for it now. I propose we start_right_where we left off - don't you agree, my lord?"_

"_I think you've never had a better idea, Dean," drawled Wyatt, but his eyes were chips of steel in a hard face._

_Chris didn't even have time to react before Bianca was ripped from his side and into Dean's awaiting arms. Instinctively, Bianca lashed out with an energy ball, but Dean quailed it just as quickly._

_Bianca whipped her attention to Wyatt and demanded angrily, her cinnamon brown eyes boring holes into him, "What are you doing? I agreed to help you, didn't I? Stop this right now!" She attempted to kick Dean in the groin, but he was too fast._

_Dean grabbed her wrists roughly and hissed, "As sexy as you are when you're angry, let's save it for later, shall we, sweetheart?"_

"_Get your hands_off_her!" Chris commanded, feeling rage flood his veins at the sight of that whore touching his fiancée, but Bianca immediately shouted, _

"_Don't, Chris! Your powers…"_

_Everything seemed to freeze. Chris felt his stomach vanish as the impact of her statement truly hit him for the first time. His powers were really gone, and before him stood the two most brutal killers in the world.__And he was completely powerless. _

_Now the reason why Bianca had turned back suddenly made a whole lot more sense. With Dean back at Wyatt's side, she hadn't stood a chance. _

_This time, he couldn't swallow back the lump of fear in his throat._

"_So, Christopher," said Wyatt in a soft, but dangerous voice as he began to circle around Dean and Bianca towards Chris. "Was it worth it… betraying me?"_

_Chris didn't turn as Wyatt passed behind him, though he felt the flesh on the back of his neck prickle. "I didn't go back to betray you, Wyatt," he replied just as softly, holding his ground. "I went back to save you." Here, his eyes flicked to Dean, who was stroking Bianca's long hair with a calloused hand. He felt his eye twitch, but managed to grind out under his breath, "_Both_of you…."_

_Dean obviously heard it and let out a rough, bark-like laugh at the same time Wyatt sneered, "Does it look like we need saving, Christopher?"_

"_You're the one who's going to need it in a minute, Chrissie-boy," Dean chuckled maliciously. His calloused hand gripped Bianca's hair harder, and he pulled it so that her head was forced backwards, exposing her bare neck. "_Both_of you," he mocked, his light eyes glinting._

_And Chris couldn't help the comment that slipped out next. "Sam always had faith that you could be saved."_

_He immediately knew he shouldn't have crossed that line. He immediately knew an energy ball or fireball should be heading towards his face at that comment… but all that happened was a cold,_"_Samuel was a fool, Christopher. Lord Wyatt and I both thought you were smarter than he was."_

"_Well, you thought wrong," Chris snapped, feeling another surge of anger. How dare this man- Sam's own_brother_- say such a thing after what had happened? How-_dare_- he? "Sam was right. This place- this world- this_future_is all wrong! I've seen the past, and I know this isn't how it is supposed to be! Something went wrong, and now, someone has to fix it-"_

"_And you think you're that someone, do you, Chris?" snarled Wyatt, showing honest emotion for the first time. But, just as it had come, it was gone in a second. The Twice-Blessed took a deep breath and walked toward the window of the attic. "You know, if anyone else tried what you tried, I'd kill them on the spot," he said, calm and collected once again._

_He turned from the window to face Chris, and as he did so, the floorboard beneath his feet creaked. Immediately, Chris' thoughts were jarred back to his powers predicament. Had the Charmed Ones figured it out yet? Was there even a chance? He steeled himself. He had to try. There was no going back at this point._

_As though reading his mind, Bianca caught his eye, and her gaze was just as determined. She followed his gaze to the floorboard and looked back to him, her expression securely guarded._

_Chris gave a tiny, fractional nod which only Bianca could have caught. Years of being in life threatening situations had given them an understanding no others could decipher, and with that one miniscule nod, they had a plan._

_Chris waited until Wyatt had turned back to the window before he gave the signal. Immediately, Bianca spun and kicked Dean so hard in the face that he went crashing into a pile of old trunks. Chris ran straight towards Wyatt. The Twice-Blessed whirled around at the noise only to be plowed over by his younger brother._

_In seconds, Chris found himself thrown telekinetically into the wall, which seemed to harden in the face of the impact. Chris crumpled to the ground in a heap, every muscle in his body screaming at the collision._

"_Chris!" Bianca screamed, and Chris forced himself back together in seconds. He looked up just in time to see her on the floor- next to The Floorboard, which she had obviously just ripped up. A yellowed, dusty scrap of paper skidded across the floor to him even as Dean and Wyatt both strode towards her._

_Dean tore the woman to her feet and conjured an athame. He held it tightly to her throat and leered over at Chris. "Go ahead, Chrissie. Say the spell written on that little sheet of paper," he challenged with an almost maniac ferocity. He pressed the blade dangerously hard against Bianca's neck and finished with sadistic grin, "I just hope your powers can heal the dead."_

_Chris didn't have time. He just didn't have the time- to do_anything_. Before he was on his feet, before he was hurtling himself towards the piece of paper, before he was screaming her name, the dagger had ripped straight through Bianca's throat. Her knees hit the ground first, and the splatter of blood was next. Chris was shouting the spell for his powers even as her head made contact with the dusty floor._

_A golden glow engulfed him, but he didn't wait for it to fade away. It was still surrounding him when he threw out a hand and viciously sent Dean careening through the wall. It was barely starting to fade when he ripped Wyatt from his feet and sent him crashing into a pile of boxes._

_Dead silence fell, interrupted only by Chris' ragged breathing and pounding feet as he scrambled clumsily to Bianca's side. But one look in her bloodshot eyes told him it was too late. She was dead, and there was nothing in magic or love that could bring her back._

_He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear it as he lifted her into his lap one last time, unheeding to the blood that spilled across his shirt and jeans. "No…" he whispered, his voice cracking over the single word. "Please,_n-no_…"_

_He didn't know how long he sat like that with the last of her lifeblood seeping into his clothes and skin. He didn't care to know how long, but it wasn't long enough before a rustle of boxes alerted him to Wyatt's consciousness._

_Something inside him began to tear as he forced himself to his feet, laying Bianca's paled and bloodied corpse on the floor, where he knew it wouldn't remain. But he couldn't think about that. He needed to get back to the past. He knew without even thinking that if he could change the past,_this would never happen_. She wouldn't die like this. She couldn't; he'd make sure._

_He staggered hastily over to the pedestal where the Book lay, unopened and so unconvincingly innocent. If the Halliwells who wrote it knew what Wyatt was using it for now…._

_He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he hurriedly flipped through the pages, searching, searching for the spell._

_Distantly, he heard the sound of an energy ball being conjured, and he ducked instinctively, then continued rustling through the old pages. He couldn't afford to stop._

There_!_

_He began chanting immediately, ducking another energy ball that flew at his face. Wyatt was getting serious._

"_-What I wish in space and time!" he finished, and the chalk triquetra glowed blue. With one last glance at his infuriated, desperate brother, Chris made a dash for the portal… only to be stopped by fireball in the chest by a newly conscious Dean._

_Chris felt all the air leave his lungs at the searing impact, and he stumbled backwards in surprise and pain._

_Dean smirked roguishly. "Not so fast, kiddo. You were just going to leave without giving me a goodbye kiss, were you?"_

_One pure adrenaline, Chris roundhouse kicked Dean in the chest, managing to catch the demon off guard. Before the professional hunter's surprise could wear off, Chris dove through the portal, every part of his mind, body, and soul screaming in protest._

* * *

TBC…


	3. City of Angels

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 3: City of Angels

* * *

__

_I heard that evil comes disguised  
Like a city of angels,  
I'm walking towards the light,  
Baptized in the river,  
I've seen a vision of my life and I wanna be delivered._

_-- Good Charlotte, "The River."_

* * *

Sam threw his jacket and motel key on the bedside table and sat heavily on the busted up bed. After his encounter with the self-proclaimed Good witch, he had driven like a bat out of hell across the country. If the witch had found him in Atlanta, Georgia, she'd have a harder time getting to him in San Francisco, California. They were entirely across the continent from each other.

The Winchester sighed wearily and kicked off his boots. He took a moment to just stretch out across the bed before his curiosity truly laid into him. Why had the woman even bothered trying to convince him of her Goodness? How stupid did she think he was? She was obviously magical, so she had to have known he was a hunter if he was killing a vampire. That must have been all too evident. So why had the both of them sounded so… _earnest_? _Sincere_?

He battled himself for a moment, but eventually jumped up and pulled his father's journal out of his bag. He had tried to memorize it over the years, before and after Dean, and he had come close. But just when he thought he had it all down and he was skimming through, something new would always seem to pop up.

This time when Sam flipped to his father's handwritten entry on witches, an old, almost decomposing square of parchment fell onto his lap. He frowned. Something this old would have definitely caught his attention if he had come across it before. How had it escaped his eye…?

He flipped the parchment over and scanned the information. It was a journal entry from the deputy of Salem, Massachusetts, 1692, recording the last words of one Melinda Warren.

_"You may kill me, but you cannot kill my kind. I vow that with each generation of Warren witches will grow stronger, culminating in the arrival of three sisters. These three sisters will be the most powerful witches the world has ever known. They will destroy all kinds of evil and shall be called the Charmed Ones."_

Sam stared.

No way.

This witch… practically declared herself a good witch, as well as her descendants. And the parchment had been in his dad's journal, which meant it was probably legit. _Shit._ If everything had gone as she had predicted...

Sam lunged for his laptop and flipped it open. He had to wait an eternity for it to start up, but besides that, he immediately typed in "Warren lineage" and sifted through the various websites with family trees with an almost desperate energy. There was just _no way…._

But apparently, there was. Prudence, Piper, Phoebe, and Paige, the last names on the tree besides the little line below Piper that read, "Wyatt Matthew Halliwell."

He Googled each of the sisters' names, finding their notable achievements in the non-magical world. There was an obituary for Prudence. Piper Halliwell owned a semi-successful night club called P3, and Sam made the connection between the name and the magic almost automatically. Phoebe had over two thousand results and was clearly a popular advice columnist. Paige's last name, he learned, was actually Matthews and had been active in college life, where she earned credits to become a social worker. Sam felt sick when he found her picture for her old college ID.

There she was, though her hair was a dark brown. The same wide brown eyes and pale complexion. Sam wondered briefly if she was mistakenly a vampire instead of a witch but quickly vanished the thought. He had a bigger fish to fry.

_He had just tried to kill a good witch_, possibly the most powerful fighter of evil the world had ever seen.

Sam let his head fall forward into his hands and stared at the threadbare motel carpet. He had just tried to kill a good person, an _ally_. And she had sisters. Sisters who had already been through the mind numbing loss of another sister, Prudence….

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing his thoughts to stay away from that. _Don't go there…_

But he did. For some unexplainable, masochistic reason, his mind did go there. He had almost cost a pair of sisters _another_ sibling. He had almost been Dean's hellhound to two sisters, two Hunting sisters just like himself. _He had almost been Dean's hellhounds_.

He gasped slightly at the brutal thought, feeling as though he'd been gutted. What was he doing? When had it become protocol to shoot before certainty? Before any research or questioning at all? He had almost killed an innocent woman! She hadn't done anything to him, and he still didn't know why she had arrived at all. He had just shot her, shot her right in the chest. Why hadn't he realized something was off as soon as she fell to the ground, corporeal, crying out in pain? Even if she had been one of Lilith's people, she never would have shown the enemy her pain. She would have fought back. _What had he done_?

His hands came up to cover his face, but they wouldn't let him escape from this. The damning thoughts continued. It hadn't been the first time he had shot first and asked questions later. It hadn't been the first time he'd been less than thorough with the research because he'd been so focused on the kill. There had been times, over the last two years, when he'd shot rock salt or cold iron into something that he'd been _sure_ was a shapeshifter or a fairy, and the resulting deaths had been disturbingly…human.

_Like that Annie Hicks girl today. _

The thought rose unbidden.

She was a vampire. And yet, she hadn't turned into ash when he'd stabbed her with the stake. She hadn't turned into a bat and flown off into the darkness. Instead, she had covered and wept and begged…like a victim. Like an _innocent._

"NO!" he yelled, unable to stop his echoing thoughts. He jumped to his feet and punched the motel wall with all his strength and adrenaline combined. Pain flared through his knuckles in a searing white hot flash, and he punched the wall again. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. "_No_!"

_This wasn't him!_

Suppressing the urge, the sudden _need_, to throw something as hard as he could until it shattered into a million tiny pieces, Sam let his hands fall to his side.

_Remember what dad taught you_, Dean's voice whispered from his past, and he choked. _Remember what _I _taught you._

He closed his eyes and let himself slide down the wall onto the floor.

Somewhere along the way, he had _forgotten._

He had been so focused on the 'keep fighting' part of Dean's speech, that he had forgotten the other, more important parts. The things Dean hadn't thought he needed to say. The things he thought Sam would have known. Keep fighting, but don't let the fight consume you. _Don't become what you're hunting. _

What the hell was happening to him? How had it come to this? He had been hunting evil, saving the world, business as usual…so how had it come to _this?_

_No more_, he vowed to himself, deeply shaken by the realization of the brink he had been treading. This had to change.

No sooner had he thought the words than he felt his body falling into the air, into light, and dissolve.

The next thing he knew, Sam Winchester was standing in the middle of an attic occupied by three women- three women he instantly recognized from the pictures he had just been looking at.

"Sorry," said the one he had tried to kill, Paige, as she set a crystal-looking rock in front of his foot. He was about to ask her just what she was sorry for when a light shot from the crystal, and three other crystals around him, forming a sort of cage around him.

He felt his heart harden. They, the Charmed Ones, had just locked him in a crystal cage. And, judging by the way they were standing around a book on a pedestal, it wasn't the last thing they were going to do to him.

His entire chest freezing over in steel cold anger, he ground out, "What do you think you're doing?"

The one he recognized as Piper shot him a look that told him exactly who was in charge, here. "Truth spell, mister. Now why don't you be a good boy and wait quietly."

"Piper," the only one who hadn't spoken yet, Phoebe, scolded. She shook her head at her sister's disrespectful antics.

Piper rolled her eyes. "Well, are we going to do this? Then let's do this."

Sam didn't even have time to guess what they were going to do before they began chanting,

_"Powers of Haliwell witches rise,_

_Strip this man of all his lies,_

_For those who want the truth revealed,_

_Open his heart and secrets unseal."_

Sam didn't feel anything. He didn't feel any different.

"What's your name?" asked Paige, seeming to steel herself for the interrogation.

"Samuel Winchester," Sam said before he even knew what he was saying. He suppressed a surprised gasp and regarded the sisters with wider eyes. Apparently the truth spell had worked. He had arrived in San Francisco not thirty minutes ago.

"Do you have any plans concerning Wyatt Halliwell?" demanded Piper, treating him to another scorching glare.

"No," he answered, again unable to stop himself.

"Do you have any dealings with demons?" asked Phoebe.

Sam's heart constricted as he knew he was going to give an honest answer, for one of the few times in his entire life. What would he tell them? They were the Charmed Ones, the greatest fighters of Good the world had yet seen. He couldn't let them think he was evil. Not only would they kill him, he figured, but he would lose any chance at gaining their friendship… if he still wanted that friendship after they had stooped to using magic against him. So he took a deep breath, and tried to control the way his tongue wanted to answer.

"Yes," he began, but continued quickly before they could voice any outrage. "But only because I've been fighting them since I was a child. A demon killed my mother when I was just a baby, and my father and brother and I started hunting them and any other evil entity we come across."

He clenched his jaw here, thinking that was enough for them to at least trust his goodness. But he had apparently underestimated the curiosity of the three sisters.

"You've been fighting demons?" asked Piper, now frowning, perplexed. "I thought you weren't magical."

"My brother and father definitely weren't," said Sam, suddenly wondering whether or not it was worth their friendship, to spill his entire life's story to these strangers. But he couldn't help it even if he decided it wasn't. There was nothing he could do against a truth spell from within the crystal cage. "I don't know what I am. I've had premonitions, used telekinesis, and vanquished a powerful demon just by willing it."

The three girls stared, then turned to each other, obviously caught off guard by this new information.

"Well," said Paige, her expression unenthusiastic, "the Elders didn't exactly tell me anything about him. Just his name. I just… hadn't guessed it, the way he killed that girl."

"Why did you kill that girl?" asked Phoebe, turning back to their prisoner so quickly, Sam wondered that she didn't crick her neck.

"She was a vampire," said Sam, and was grateful the spell didn't force him to elaborate.

"Ah, well… that would explain that," said Phoebe, pulling a face. She turned back to her sisters and informed them seriously, "She was a vampire."

"Yes, we heard," drawled Piper, then questioned Sam, "You said a second ago your brother and father _weren't_ magical. Are they now?"

"They're dead." The sentence came out blunt. Required. That was all he had to say.

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Piper said softly, "I'm sorry to hear that. It's a dangerous job."

"I realized that, thanks," said Sam, and he didn't regret the coldness in his voice.

"If you don't mind me asking, but how?" asked Phoebe.

"I do mind," said Sam, scowling, but felt himself begin to tell them anyway. The spell apparently didn't take into account his preferences. "The three of us were hit by a semi and were all injured, my brother the worst. He was about to die, but my father made a deal with a demon. He died instead, and my brother lived. Then I was stabbed some time later and I died, but my brother made a deal to bring me back to life. He only had one year to live after that, and then the hellhounds came to take his soul. That was two years ago."

The silence this time was stunned. After a moment, Phoebe said, sounding a bit dazed, "That… actually sounds a lot like our family. I'm sorry."

Sam nodded once in acknowledgement, but didn't alter the steeliness in his countenance. He wouldn't make any attempt to alter it, either, until the witches took their spell off him and they were on a level playing field.

"Well," began Phoebe, clapping her hands together and looking to her sisters for some sort of understanding. Sam knew the look. He and Dean had some just like it. "I think I'm convinced. Piper? Paige?"

Paige took a moment to look at her charge, and Sam could still feel flakes of doubt in that glance, but he could also see her determination and understanding glaring beneath it all. She nodded.

Piper took a moment longer, but she, too, nodded her approval. "Let's undo the spell, then."

They nodded and spoke a few lines to which Sam hardly listened. They were really undoing the spell- they trusted him after less than five minutes of interrogation. The truth spell had probably made him more convincing, but still. They, complete strangers, actually trusted him.

_This has got to be a first_, he thought absently, remembering the constant, unvarying stares of disbelief he and Dean had always gotten when they'd told the truth. It was a nice change, but he wished something like this could have started happening about twenty years ago. It would have made things that much easier.

"So, ah, we'll just leave you two alone to… talk," said Piper, grabbing Phoebe by the shoulders and heading towards the door. Paige looked for a moment as if she wanted to protest being left alone with the stranger but then seemed to steel herself. She gave a fractional, barely noticeable nod, probably encouraging herself. Piper nodded in return and shut the door behind Phoebe and herself.

There was a moment of silence as Paige crossed the room to kick a crystal out of alignment. There was a faint buzz in the air, and Sam knew the cage was no longer active.

"Sorry about all that," she said with a grimace. "We just- we've been burned before, you know? We needed to find out if you were… never mind."

"Were what?" asked Sam, dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Nothing," she said. "Look, the main thing here is that I'm your whitelighter and you know that. But you probably don't know what a whitelighter is, do you?"

Sam stared at her for a second as he tried to recall where he'd heard the word before. He knew it sounded familiar, and he had done enough research on the supernatural in his life to be able to recognize a lot of things. He remembered Providence, Rhode Island, and the church he and Dean had investigated where angels were supposedly telling people to kill….

"You're like a guardian angel," he said, suddenly remembering and unable to stop the sound of awe from entering his voice. "They're- they guide and watch over those destined to do a great good in the world. I came across the word when I was researching angels…."

Paige smiled slightly. "I'm not exactly an angel. My biological father was closer to one than me; and he only passed on the gene." When Sam gave her a bewildered look, she shook her head and muttered, "Never mind. Long story. Anyway, I'm really supposed to watch out for you and make sure you're not hurt by some Evil before you can do what you're destined to do. Usually, whitelighters have the power to heal and orb- teleport- but I haven't exactly mastered the healing. And neither has my whitelighter… so, we're all kind of SOL in that department."

"Wait, you have a whitelighter, too?" asked Sam, his brow furrowing. What, did that whitelighter have one, too, and it was just a never ending chain?

"Oh, um, Chris. Yeah. He's the one that came and saved me from, ha, you. That's what whitelighters are supposed to do, so he was a good example. For once."

Sam's brow furrowed deeper. "Do whitelighters and their charges not usually get along?"

Paige stared at him for a moment, clearly taken aback by his perceptiveness. Then she stated quite matter-of-factly, "Chris is complicated- and new. My sister Piper married our last whitelighter, though."

Sam nodded with an 'ah,' clearly conveying his continued bewilderment.

Paige shrugged. "Hang around me long enough and you'll get it. So, getting back to you, where are you staying?"

"Um… there's this motel in San Francisco…" said Sam warily, not quite ready to give out the rest of his life's details.

"How convenient. This is San Francisco," said Paige. She gestured towards a window, and Sam could just barely make out the shape of the bridge in the distance. He felt his jaw beginning to drop.

_Are you kidding me?_ He pushed back the thought and asked instead, "Then how did you find me in Atlanta? It's clear across the country."

Paige laughed slightly. "I think you'll find neither time nor distance matter much with magic. What are you doing here, though? Where do you live?"

Sam shot her a look. "I live wherever the hunt takes me."

"…You live in motels? How do you get paid, if you only hunt? I mean, we call it a job and all, but it doesn't exactly pay the bills, does it?"

"I'd prefer we not talk about it. I don't have a problem getting money, so no guidance needed there, whitelighter," he snapped, bristling slightly. There was something in her gaze that told him she knew exactly what he was talking about, though.

She bristled right back. "Listen, buddy, living off credit fraud or hustling or stealing isn't exactly me keeping you on the right path, is it?"

"Don't you think I know that?" Sam shot back, turning cold. "I went to Stanford to become a lawyer, lady. But what firm do you know of that would hire me on a day to day basis? Huh? It just doesn't work like that no matter what you like to think. _It just doesn't work_."

Paige, instead of surrendering like anyone else might have done at his venomous tone, just gave him a calculating look. "You wanted to be a lawyer?"

Sam scowled. That was all she had gotten from his little insight? He scoffed and didn't answer.

"Well," she began slowly, clearly weighing some possibility within her mind. "I think… I may have a solution to make us _both_ happy."

* * *

"God," Piper breathed the second she had closed the door behind her. "That poor boy."

"I know," Phoebe nodded, "It's awful! His _entire_ family!"

_And we thought _we_ were unlucky_, was left unsaid but not unheard.

"But…he must have some family, right?" Piper asked; her heart a wellspring of sympathy for the young man after hearing his tragic story. "He can't actually be completely alone. He's so young!"

"I don't see how he would have, Piper," Phoebe said, "I mean…if he grew up hunting these things, he would probably have been moving around a lot. If he ever had family or friends, he probably lost touch with them."

"It's easy to see now why he might have lost his way," Piper said. "After what happened to his brother..." Her voice trailed off, and she thought of Prue's death, and how it had turned her into a Fury. If Leo and her sisters hadn't been there to help her, she didn't know where she'd be right now. "We have to help him," she said.

"Uh, sweetie, he said his brother was taken by hellhounds," Phoebe pointed out, "Which means he's not just dead, he's in _hell._ I really don't think there's a lot we can do to help him with that."

Piper glared at her. "Not what I meant. We have to do _something_ for him. I mean, can you imagine the kind of life he's led, hunting evil since he was a child? We have to help him."

"You know, Piper, I'm really happy to hear you say that," Paige said, closing the door behind her. "I just asked Sam what he does for a living. He didn't say much, but I gathered that he makes ends meet through credit card frauds and stuff."

"That's terrible!" Phoebe cried, "Paige, you have to stop him, he can't just-!"

"I know," her sister interrupted, "But he doesn't have any other way to live, does he? So I was thinking…why can't we let him stay in the back-room at P3?"

Piper frowned. "With Chris?" she asked, skeptical, "Are you sure that's safe?"

"Well, we can't exactly let him stay _here_, can we," Paige said reasonably, "Much as we trust him and want to help, we can't let strangers in the house with Wyatt. P3 is the best option. As for Chris, I can give Sam a few vanquishing Potions, just in case. I doubt Chris will hurt him, though. He knows him in the future, remember? He's the one who confirmed that Sam has an important destiny and we had to be a part of it. Chris is so hung up on future consequences that he'd never do anything to jeopardize, whatever else his agenda is."

"Well, when you put it that way," Piper conceded. "What do you think, Phoebe?"

"I think it's a good idea. If he's at the club, we can keep a closer eye on him. And he'll be able to keep tabs on Chris for us, too. Not spy on him!" she added hurriedly at the looks on their faces, "Just, you know, he can warn us if Chris is doing something suspicious."

"It's settled then," Piper said, "Sam can stay at P3 with Chris."

* * *

"Are you sure this is okay, me staying here without paying any rent?" Sam asked for the fourth time as Paige tried each key from the set in her hands. He wasn't used to accepting help from strangers. But he didn't like living through illegal means either, so he swallowed down the pride. Still, he had to ask.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yes, Sam, it's fine. Chris stays here without paying any rent, either. It's not like this place is the Hilton, anyway." As she was speaking, she had managed to unlock the door. They both stopped short at the sight that met their eyes.

"My God," Sam said, looking around, "It's like something exploded in here."

There were piles of paper _everywhere_, on the couch, on the desk, on the single chair in the room, and on the floor. When Sam stepped forward to look at them more closely, he saw that there were star charts, and sheets filled with magical symbols, many of which he didn't recognize. There was also a huge pile of books in a corner that appeared to be on time travel, and a couple of half-full cartons which appeared to contain Chris's clothes.

"Uh…it didn't used to be this bad," Paige said weakly, looking around with equal amazement. She hadn't been in here since…since Bianca had visited town, she realized with a pang. Clearly Chris had gotten even more obsessive after her death, though she hadn't thought that was possible.

"So what's the deal with this Chris kid, anyway?" Sam asked, tearing his eyes away from the piles of paper, because even though he was curious, he had _some_ manners. After all, this had been Chris's room first, and as far as he knew, the sisters hadn't even informed the whitelighter about his new roommate.

"I wish I knew," Paige said, "He's from the future. I know how it sounds," she added at the look on Sam's face, "But he really is. He hasn't told us much; just that he came to the past to stop some evil from getting to Wyatt. He's really vague on that point- he doesn't like talking about the future much because it might change the way things turn out if we know about them in advance. He's a little paranoid. Also, less than trustworthy. He lies a lot, so we're not really sure why he's _really_ here." She hesitated a moment, and then opened her handbag and drew out a number of vials with what had to be Potions in them. "These are a few non-lethal Vanquishing Potions," she told him. "In case he ever threatens you or something, call my name. I'll hear you, it's a whitelighter thing. But if I don't respond, for whatever reason, you can use any of these against him. They won't kill him."

"Thanks," He said, casting the vials a slightly wary look as he accepted them. "Is this really necessary?"

"It wouldn't be," Paige said apologetically, "But he did say he knew you in the future."

Sam blinked, and then blinked again. What was he supposed to say to that?

"Well," She looked around the room and grimaced. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess."

"Thanks," He said dryly.

She grinned at him and orbed out.

He spent the next half an hour, picking up the piles of paper and arranging them on Chris's side of the room. He couldn't help looking at some of what was written on the papers as he lifted them, but he didn't understand any of it, though he recognized some of the symbols. Chris was clearly using some kind of code, which, Sam had to agree with Paige's assessment, _was_ pretty paranoid.

He was rather bemused. Who exactly was this Chris guy, anyway? If the Charmed Ones didn't trust him, why was he still around? _There you go again with your shoot to kill attitude,_ he scolded himself. Chris might be a potential threat, but that didn't mean getting rid of him on principle. He sighed. This whole changing thing was going to be harder than he thought.

He stayed up late that night, waiting for Chris to arrive so that he could discuss sleeping arrangements with him. There was only one couch in the room, after all. But when Chris didn't show, he shrugged mentally and got onto the couch. It wasn't very comfortable and his long legs came nowhere close to fitting in its confines, but he fell asleep quickly. It had been a long day.

* * *

Chris stumbled into the room, every muscle in his body aching like hell. He had been in the Underworld for two days. All he wanted to do now was pass out on the couch. He took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the room, hitting the lights as he came in. He blinked and then blinked again when he saw Sam Winchester sleeping on his couch.

* * *

TBC…


	4. When The Evening's Thin

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 4: When The Evening's Thin

A/N: First off, we'd like to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses and praise. We just want to clarify that this story does NOT contain ANY SLASH! We understand that some parts of the story might seem a bit suggestive, but any perceived slashiness is completely unintentional on our parts. Thanks again!

* * *

_You woke up screaming aloud  
A prayer from your secret god  
You feed off our fears  
And hold back your tears, oh  
Give us a tantrum  
And a know it all grin  
Just when we need one  
When the evening's thin._

_- Sarah McLachlan, "Building a Mystery."_

* * *

Chris stared dumbly at the man whose memory he had been trying to escape for the last two days. The Sam he had known had been two decades older, of course, but the similarities were still overwhelming. He recovered after a moment, stepping forward cautiously, knowing that Sam, with the alertness of a hunter, would wake at the slightest noise he made. Sure enough, as Chris began to clear his desk, Sam blinked awake.

"So, I guess you're Chris."

Chris stopped what he was doing and regarded the man in front of him. "What are you doing here?" he asked without preamble.

_Well, at least he's polite, _Sam thought wryly.

"I…er…Paige told me I could stay here," he said awkwardly, embarrassed at usurping the other man's room.

_Right_, Chris thought a little bitterly, _of course she did. It's not like she had to ask **me** first or anything._ But it wasn't Sam's fault that Chris's family-to-be were a bunch of insensitive, self-centered freaks (for lack of a better word), and he knew he shouldn't be acting so rudely. So he nodded at him and turned back to his task of clearing his desk off the piles of paper which Sam had moved from the couch.

"Do you…I mean, do you want to sleep?" Sam asked cautiously after a moment, "You look kind of beat."

"No," Chris replied, "I'm fine. You go back to sleep."

Sam frowned, but lay back down wordlessly. Chris turned back to his desk; acutely conscious of the other man's eyes following his every move. He tried not to picture the mingled curiosity and concern he knew must be on Sam's face, wishing he had not been so close to him in the future. Every expression, every posture, was achingly familiar, and he wondered how the hell he was going to survive living with Sam day in and day out when being in his presence for five minutes hurt so much. Dragging his feet slightly, he walked towards one of the cartons in which he kept his belongings, and drew out the much used first aid kit.

He set it on the now-cleared desk, and, slowly, painfully pulled off his shirt.

Sam gasped from behind him. "Holy crap!" Chris's torso was abundantly peppered with cuts and bruises, both fresh and old. There were also a number of scars, the kind that, in Sam's rather extensive experience, were usually a result of prolonged torture.

_What the hell could have done this to someone powerful enough for telekinesis and teleportation?_

Chris turned and then sighed at Sam's expression, although he knew he should have expected it. Almost everyone he knew in the future had scars and sustained injuries on an almost daily basis, and he had started to take them for granted. Especially around Sam, who had been one of the worst when it came to injuries. He wished he had waited for Sam to fall asleep before doing this.

"I thought I told you to go back to sleep?" he asked

Sam ignored him. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I had a run-in with a demon," Chris said, giving him the simplest version of the answer to that question. Then, when the other man's eyes widened, he winced and clarified, "Not your kind of demon."

"There's more than one kind?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," he answered, but didn't elaborate. He was just too tired to get into a discussion on demonic types, and he knew Sam would only be satisfied if he researched it himself, anyway.

He set about cleansing and bandaging his cuts and bruises, wishing Sam would stop staring at him, but grateful that he wasn't insisting on trying to help. When he picked up the hooked needle and thread, though, Sam surged forward.

"Here, let me."

"I'm fine." _You're the one who taught me how to do this in the first place!_ The irony choked him for a moment, and he swallowed.

"No way can you going to stitch that cut up by yourself!" Sam protested.

"Why, you do it too, don't you?" Chris asked, exasperated, "It really isn't that big a deal. I've had worse."

Sam frowned. "How did you…oh. So, you're really from the future, then?"

Chris nodded.

"And…we know each other?" Sam continued, trying to wrap his mind around the entire situation.

Something nameless passed through Chris's eyes. "Yeah, we did," he said quietly.

"Did?" Sam asked, "I'm dead?"

"What? No!" Chris exclaimed, and although he sounded genuinely horrified, Sam got the distinct impression that he was lying. "It's just…the tenses get a little confusing sometimes. Right now, your future is my past. Don't even try to wrap your head around it, it's way too confusing."

Sam regarded him silently for a few moments. Then, "Hand me that needle."

Chris bristled at his commanding tone. "I really _can_ manage by myself-"

"Yeah, but it'll less painful if I help you. You're going to have to help me, too, with my injuries, because I'm going to keep hunting. So you don't need to be embarrassed."

"Actually I won't have to help you when you're injured," Chris said as he grudgingly handed over the needle and thread. "You'll call Paige, and she'll call Leo, and he'll heal you."

Sam stilled his movements. "Why can't _you_ do that, then?" he asked curiously.

"I'm not exactly the Halliwell's favorite person right now," Chris said with evenly, his expression tightening.

Sensing he didn't want to talk anymore, Sam set to work on stitching his wounds. Chris tensed and clenched his jaw, but didn't give any other indication of pain. Something about his stoicism reminded Sam of Dean, and he swallowed.

"Thanks," Chris said when Sam was done. He reached for one of his cartons of clothes, and pulled out a slightly wrinkled shirt.

"What about the burn?" Sam said.

It was by far the worst of Chris's injuries.

Chris looked down at himself and grimaced. He had obviously forgotten about it, though Sam didn't know how that was possible, because it looked extremely painful. "Can you please hand me the aloe vera?"

He applied some of it on the burn and reached for the shirt again.

"You can't just slap some cream on it and leave it like that!" Sam exclaimed incredulously.

Chris pulled on his shirt, wincing as the cloth chaffed against his skin. He gave Sam a long-suffering look. "Yeah, I can. Not like I have too many options, do I?"

"You could always ask Paige to-"

"No."

There was something in his tone which warned Sam not to argue, so he changed the subject to something equally concerning. "Look, you really look like you can use some rest," he said, "I'll give you the couch-"

"No," Chris interrupted again, "I have research to catch up on. You can go back to sleep."

Although Chris was bone weary, he knew he wouldn't get any sleep with Sam in the room.

"But-" Sam protested, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of usurping the other man's bed. Or, in this case, couch.

"Please, Sam," Chris cut him off, "I really don't sleep all that much. I didn't come to the past to waste my time on sleep." He gestured to the desk. "Please just go to sleep, alright?"

The weary, pleading note in Chris's words robbed Sam of any further arguments, and he lay back down on the couch without another word. Chris took a seat at the desk, and was soon lost in one of his books. As he watched him, he wondered again who the hell this guy _was_. He had never met anyone this stubborn since Dean.

* * *

The next morning found Paige slowly making her way to the back room of P3. Piper was on a cleaning rampage at the manor, and she wanted to waste as much time away from there as she could. Her sluggish trek eventually came to an end, however, and she sighed. She knocked once and pushed the door open.

Chris was at the desk, scouring a book full of indecipherable charts, and Sam was just getting up from the sofa, clearly having just woken up. The two men glanced up as she entered.

"Hey guys," she said, leaning against the frame. "Just wanted to check and see how you were doing, Sam."

"He's fantastic," said Chris, brushing the concern aside. "Look, I found this demon that can only appear twice a-"

"Chris, seriously. Get a life. I was talking to Sam, since he's kind of new around here," Paige cut across in a smooth drawl. She turned her attention back to Sam, who was now stretching and yawning, completely ignoring the brief look of hurt that flashed across Chris' face. "So, O Charge of Mine, how was your first night here? Anything… interesting?" she asked, tilting her head very slightly towards the other half whitelighter.

Chris noticed and scowled. "Subtle, Paige. Subtle. And what is he doing here, anyway? Is this going to be a permanent arrangement? And did _no one _think to tell me about it? I mean, don't you think I would have like to know in case I accidentally thought he was a demon and vanquished him in his sleep? Didn't that seem like a stupid move on your part-?"

"Chris, please," Paige interrupted again, this time putting a hand to her temple. "Jeez, I didn't think you'd make such a big deal about it. Do you two not get along in the future or something?"

"Oh, we-" Chris cut himself off abruptly. Paige arched an eyebrow at him, intrigued. He glared witheringly at her; then sat back in his chair. He picked up his book again and started flipping pages, evidently looking for something in particular.

Paige rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Sam. "Sorry about that," she said with a slight laugh. "So, really, are you going to be good here?"

"Oh, um…" said Sam, still looking between the two half-whitelighters warily. "I'm sure I'll be… fine. I just need to go back to the motel and get my stuff before noon, or it's another day on _Mr. Smith's _credit card."

Chris moved slightly and hurriedly flipped a page, drawing Paige's attention. Her eyes narrowed. "What was that?"

Chris glanced up, eyes wide but not quite innocent. "What?"

Paige continued staring at him pointedly, but he met her gaze just the same. She finally sighed when it became apparent he wasn't backing down and ground out, "Fine then. Forget I cared."

Silence. Chris kept his eyes trained on the page he was looking at, his posture oddly stiff.

"…What…?" asked Sam, utterly baffled by their cold conversation. If he had been anyone else, he would have thought the two hated each other. But there was something in the way Chris responded to her provocations that made Sam think the hatred was not, in fact, mutual. Chris stopped himself from retorting as viciously as Sam got the feeling he could. He was holding back and even looked… _wounded_ at a few of Paige's jabs. It was slightly disconcerting to the Winchester. This Chris Guy was turning out to be strangely different from what the Charmed Ones had described.

"Nothing," said Paige shrilly. "Just typical Chris behavior. I'm sure you'll get used to it, too."

Sam blinked, then looked over to Chris, who hadn't so much as glanced at him since he had woken up. "I'm sure I can be just as bad," he offered, hoping it would be some sort of olive branch to Chris. He could definitely use some peace between them if they would be living in such close quarters for a while.

He was, therefore, less than thrilled when Chris muttered under his breath, so softly that Sam doubted Paige could hear it without a Hunter's training, "Damn right…."

Sam felt himself harden at the response. It was with a bit of spite that he reciprocated, "Hey, Chris, how did you handle that burn last night? It looked pretty nasty. Maybe_ Paige_ should take a look at it." So he was trying to get back on the good side of Good. That didn't mean he couldn't still have relapses into vindictiveness. He smirked when the attention was diverted from himself.

At that, Paige blinked and moved closer to Chris, concerned. "What? What happened?"

Finally, Chris looked at him, and Sam was pretty sure Paige was saving his life just by being present. Otherwise, Sam got the very distinct impression Chris would have put a knife right between his eyes.

Chris returned his attention to Paige and snapped, "I went to the Underworld to vanquish the demon _you_ and your sisters wouldn't, alright? It would have been a lot easier with the Power of Three, but if you're too busy with your social lives to be bothered…."

"Chris, you can't go to the Underworld to vanquish demons without telling anyone!" Paige snapped, shocked. "What if you had gotten yourself killed and no one here even knew to look for you?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Well, I think you would figure out something was wrong if I suddenly stopped harassing you for several days, and hopefully you would have the common decency to come _look_ for me," he drawled. "I didn't think you hated me _that_ much."

Paige opened her mouth to make a snappy retort but halted. She looked for a moment as if she might try and deny any hatred at all for Chris but only ended up shrugging. She opted for saying, "I'll call Leo to heal you. You really shouldn't-"

"No!" Chris said with a sudden rush of vehemence. There was a second of silence in which all three of them looked surprised by his outburst. He hastened to add, before it became any more awkward, "I just meant, it's really not that bad. If- if it gets any worse, I'll call him myself." When Paige raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, Chris rolled his eyes and held up two fingers. "Scout's honor," he drawled.

Paige huffed in a resigned way. "Right. Whatever. Anyways… Sam, you coming? We can go get your stuff, now."

Sam nodded instantly, shamelessly eager to get out of the room with the sarcastic future-boy. He followed Paige into the main part of the club and asked as soon as they were out of earshot, "Who's Leo?" He had wanted to ask Chris the previous day, but the man's brusqueness had put him off.

"The whitelighter that married my sister," Paige supplied, twirling her car keys around her finger absently. "He and Chris haven't really gotten along… ever. It's a complicated story."

Sam nodded, still very curious. There seemed to be a lot of complicated stories around the Halliwells.

* * *

Over the next few days, Sam saw very little of Chris. The young man was gone through most of the day, and Sam guessed he spent a lot of his time in the 'Underworld.' He had read up on that after hearing Paige mention it, and had been horrified to discover that there was actually a place that wasn't hell where a huge numbers of demons _lived,_ and which, unfortunately, could only be reached by teleportation, which ruled it out as a hunting ground. Sam himself didn't spend much time in their room during the day; he was usually out chasing his own leads on supernatural phenomenon in San Francisco, and sometimes other cities if Paige was free to orb him where he needed to go.

His whitelighter was full of admiration for his skills, and Sam was surprised at how little she knew about the kind of things he hunted. The first time he had asked her to lay down a salt line; she had looked at him like he was completely nuts. He had thought that one of the most powerful forces of good in the world would know everything there was to know about the Hunt, but apparently they hunted on completely different sides of the 'evil forces' spectrum.

The affinity of monsters and ghosts for night-time meant that the hunts usually went on until the small hours of morning. This suited Sam fine, because it meant that he arrived at his room just as the club was closing for the night, so he could sleep in relative peacefulness. It was only at these odd hours that Sam ever saw Chris, and he was always sitting at his desk, poring over something or the other. Weirdly enough, he never seemed to sustain anymore injuries, despite the days he spent in the Underworld. He rarely acknowledged Sam's presence, and at first Sam thought it was because he was so engrossed in his research or whatever the hell he was doing that he just didn't notice him.

But then one night Sam took a bullet to the shoulder during a hunt gone wrong, one he couldn't treat by himself. But he didn't want to wake Paige so late at night, and the idea of asking Chris for help was even less appealing. But surprisingly, he hadn't needed to. For the first time ever, Chris had actually looked up when Sam had entered their room, as if he could somehow _sense_ that he was hurt. In a single glance, Chris had assessed Sam's injuries, and was on his feet and grabbing the first aid kit from the carton before Sam even had time to blink.

Sam had protested half-heartedly that he didn't need help, because although he had never been as bad asDean at accepting help when he needed it, Chris's brusqueness when Sam had only been trying to help him still rankled. But Chris would hear none of it, went about treating the bullet wound with an efficiency and a surprising gentleness that suggested he'd had years of practice. Which didn't make any sense to Sam because as far as he knew, Chris was like Paige and didn't hunt his kind of evil. It was not the first time that it had occurred to Sam that there was more to his mysterious roommate than met the eye. Of course, when he tried to pry, he was shot down by Chris at once.

"So…it seems like you've done this kind of thing before," Sam had said hesitantly as Chris bandaged his shoulder.

Chris had looked at him warily. "So what if I have?"

"It's just a little surprising," Sam had answered, "I kind of figured you'd be like Paige. She seems to depend on whitelighter healing a lot."

If possible, Chris's expression had become even more guarded. "Yeah, well, I picked up a few things," he'd said evasively, and thus had ended their first civilized conversation.

Sam was rather unsettled by the whole thing. He wished Chris would be a little less guarded around him, but Paige had ruined all chances of that when she had very unsubtly revealed that she had warned Sam against Chris. Worse, every time Sam saw Paige, she would ask him if Chris was giving him any trouble, and although the concern seemed genuine, Sam also sensed that she wanted to find out what Chris was up to. Which bothered him a little, because he really didn't want to _spy_ on his roommate, cold and prickly and mysterious as he was, even if the _Charmed Ones_ wanted him to.

It wasn't as though he had suddenly re-grown his conscience; it was just that he himself had been on the receiving end of the Charmed Ones' distrust, and he thought they were a bit too trigger happy in the way they dealt with perceived threats. The truth spell still seemed a little too coercive (not to mention unethical) a measure to him, and he thought they had jumped to conclusions too quickly, despite the seemingly damning nature of what he had done.

Then he blushed slightly as he realized the hypocrisy of finding problems with the way the most powerful forces of good in the world most operated after everything _he'd_ done in the past couple of years, but still couldn't shake his reluctance to spy on his roommate. Not that he'd be very successful anyway, even if he tried his hardest, he thought, a little gloomily. Chris was just too paranoid to let anything escape him.

* * *

It was five days after Sam first moved in with Chris that he dreamt of _that _night. Honestly, he should have been expecting it. The memory of his brother's death had never stopped haunting him, and five days was actually a long time for him to have _not_ had the nightmare. Once again, he watched, completely helpless as Dean was torn to shreds by invisible claws, Dean's screams of agony ringing in his ears, stabbing him in the heart like so many knives. He writhed against the wall, trying to break out of Lilith's hold, hating her smirking face, shouting _no! please!_-

"Sam!"

His eyes snapped open, and with a gasp he shot up, his hand instinctively going for the knife he always kept under his pillow. But Chris anticipated his movements, and, lightning-quick, he pressed his own hand against Sam's and pushed it down, stopping him from brandishing the knife at him.

"Sam. Relax. It's me."

Sam blinked. _"Chris?"_

Chris snorted softly. "No, Satan." He straightened, letting go of Sam's hand now that the man was fully aware of his surroundings and no longer in danger of killing him. "Welcome back the world of the waking," he said, rather sardonically.

"I- what?"

Chris sighed. "You were having a nightmare," he said, exaggeratedly slow, "I woke you up. You tried to kill me. I stopped you. Are you up to speed yet?"

He didn't wait for Sam's answer, but turned around and headed for his desk.

"Chris, what…?"Sam asked confusedly, as he pulled open one of his desk drawers and began to rummage through it.

"Hot chocolate," Chris replied, as though this explained everything. He pulled out a packet of drinking chocolate and held it up for Sam to see. "I'll make you a cup. It usually helps."

"Usually?" Sam echoed.

Chris's face tightened slightly. "I'll be in the kitchen," he said shortly, and traipsed out of the room, leaving Sam staring after him in complete bewilderment.

_What the hell just happened?_

Hot chocolate was his drink of choice after a nightmare. Had Chris known that? And…what the hell was up with the sudden display of concern? Then Sam remembered, belatedly, that Chris knew him in the future. He had filed that information away, not knowing quite what to do with it, but now he considered it anew. How well did this kid really know him? The way he had anticipated Sam's hunting reflexes- no one but Dean had ever been able to do that. The only way Chris could have known he would go for his knife when he was startled out of sleep was if he had actually woken him up from nightmares in the past. _Future._ Whatever. Chris was right, he thought, this tense thing was _extremely_ complicated.

The opening door cut off his rambling thoughts, and Chris entered, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. He handed it to the older man wordlessly, and shuffled back to his desk. Sam took a sip of the drink and instantly felt calmer.

"Thanks," he said hesitantly.

Chris glanced up at him, embarrassment flickering across his features for a moment before his face settled back into its usual unreadable expression. "You're welcome," he said evenly, and bent his head over his book.

Sam watched him as he drank his hot chocolate, taking the time to _really_ study his features for the first time since he'd met him. Chris looked beyond exhausted, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Sam started, aghast. How had it never occurred to him to wonder when Chris slept? If he was in the Underworld all day long and doing research all _night_ long, then when the hell did he sleep?

"Hey," he blurted out, "Do you…uh…do you want the couch?"

Chris stared at him, surprised. "Uh…_no?"_ he said, perplexed. "Why would I want the couch?"

"To sleep?" Sam said. Chris gave him a Look, and he sighed. "It's just…you never seem to sleep."

"Insomnia," Chris shared blandly, after a moment's pause. "I usually manage to get a couple of hours in the afternoons."

"Oh."

But he still couldn't stop staring. He hadn't known Chris was here during the day. Apparently, Chris had chosen to schedule his naps at a time when Sam was never in the room. Chris shifted under his gaze, looking annoyed.

"What?" he said testily, "What's so weird about having insomnia?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, looking away. "Sorry."

He couldn't sleep after that, and they passed the rest of the night in uncomfortable silence.

* * *

Sam's step was lighter than usual as he returned to his room hours before he usually did. He was well pleased with how the day's hunt had turned out. It had been a rawhead, so he had been fully prepared for it to be a long, bloody evening. But somehow he had managed to kill it relatively easily, and had even escaped unscathed save for a few bruises. Since he had no more hunts scheduled, he decided to give himself a rare day off. It would be nice to kick back and relax for once with nothing but a cold beer for company.

But that thought died a sudden death when he entered the room and saw Chris passed out on the couch. He was sound asleep- hadn't even taken his shoes off. He glanced at his watch, just to make sure that he hadn't made a mistake, but no. He was early, but not _that_ early; it was well past afternoon. Chris must have slept longer than usual. He stared down at the kid, unnerved by the sight of his usually guarded face relaxed in sleep. Chris looked shockingly young and vulnerable in his sleep, and Sam was amazed by the extent of the change. He would never have guessed that the cold, hard whitelighter could ever look like this. This was the first time he had seen the guy sleep.

He glanced around the room, unsure as to what to do with himself now that Chris was occupying the couch, which he had come to think of as his domain, as opposed to the desk, which was Chris's. There was only one chair in the room, and that was the one behind the desk. He didn't really like the idea of sitting at Chris's desk, although technically he supposed it was _his _desk, too. He solved the problem by dragging the chair away from the desk to a far corner of the room.

Not having anything else to do and unable to relax in Chris's presence, even when he was asleep, he reached for his laptop. He might as well find a hunt for tomorrow since he had nothing better to do. He sat down, wincing a little at the hardness of the chair. How on earth did Chris manage to sit on this thing for hours at a stretch? He propped the laptop on his lap and was soon engrossed in news reports.

A slight noise from the couch made him look up. Chris was shifting in his sleep, his face contorting with a distress that seemed to be increasing by the second. Sam sat there, frozen for a moment until Chris let out a soft cry.

He rose and walked up to the couch, debating whether or not to wake the man. On the one hand, he wouldn't wish the distress of a nightmare on anyone; on the other, he was loath to wake Chris when by his own admission he only got two or three hours of sleep a day.

Perhaps the nightmare was worth the extra sleep?

"Bianca…" Chris whispered, choking. Tears slipped down his cheeks from beneath his closed eyelids, and the sight of Chris actually _crying_ in his sleep galvanized Sam into action. Fuck sleep.

"Chris!" he said loudly, bending and shaking him gently.

"Bianca!" Chris cried out, shooting upright, panting. His eyes were wild and haunted, like he wasn't quite there.

"Chris?" Sam said, "Calm down. It's me, Sam. You were…you were having a nightmare."

For a moment, Chris stared at him vacantly, and then awareness flooded his eyes and he leapt to his feet, flushing as he scrubbed at the tears on his face. "I, uh…" he began embarrassedly, and then stopped abruptly. "Oh, no, what time is it-?" he asked in a panicked tone.

"It's eight," Sam said, eyeing him with wary concern.

"Crap, I was supposed to be in the Underworld four hours ago!"

Sam all but gaped at him. "Surely it'll keep till tomorrow?" he managed to ask.

"No, actually, it won't," Chris bit out through clenched teeth, rushing around the room at breakneck speed. "I'm undercover with some Scabber Demons, and if I don't show up when I'm supposed to, they'll get suspicious. Damn it, where the hell are my shoes?"

"You're wearing them," Sam said, "Chris, are you sure this is-"

But Chris had already orbed out.

Sam stared after him in disbelief. "What just happened?"

* * *

TBC…


	5. The Road Won't Set Me Free

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 5: The Road Won't Set Me Free

* * *

_I can pray and trick with a double tongue, but the only fool here's me,__  
I choose the way to go but the road won't set me free..._

_- Poets of the Fall, "Maybe Tomorrow's a Better Day."_

* * *

Sam lay on his back on the lumpy old couch, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The first few nights, the couch had been a welcome substitute for a bed, but as the days went on and he continued to become more ingrained in the Halliwells' world, everything seemed more complicated. And, for Sam Winchester, when things became complicated, his temper shortened to the point that he wanted to rage at every inconvenience and demand to know what gave it the right to be such a nuisance. The couch was now a nuisance. He wanted to burn it.

Dean would have encouraged him to act upon his desire.

Sam pushed back the familiar sense of pain in the pit of his ribs. It didn't matter what Dean would have suggested. Dean was long dead.

Sam distantly wondered why he was thinking of Dean so much. It had been years. Sam had slowly, so slowly, but surely begun to overcome Dean's constant presence in his mind. For so long, it had felt like Sam was listening to Dean and acting according to those feelings. And now, just when he was beginning to listen to his own voice again, this happened. Dean's memory was alive and kicking.

Just as Sam wondered what had triggered this relapse, a column of blue-white spherical lights descended from the ceiling. Sam quickly closed his eyes and deepened his breathing, not wanting Chris to catch him having trouble sleeping- again. Though they had come to some unspoken understanding about nightmares, Sam didn't want any more concerned attention than he could handle.

He seemed to pass Chris' quick inspection, for he heard the whitelighter turn toward the desk and take off his heavy coat. Sam opened his eyes to slits and watched Chris curiously. Chris had been undercover with the Scabber demons for several nights now, and avoided doing anything interesting if he suspected Sam was still awake when he first returned.

As Chris laid the coat over the back of the desk chair, Sam caught the glint of something silver. The next thing he knew, Chris was unloading, from every conceivable hiding spot on his person, dagger after silver dagger unto the desk.

Sam couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips.

Chris whirled around before Sam had time to feign sleep again, and their wide eyes locked on each other's instantly.

"S-Sam," Chris stammered, flabbergasted. "I thought-" he broke off. There was a moment of silence, and then Chris' eyes widened even farther. He slowly edged himself in front of the blades so that he was blocking them from view.

Sam didn't attempt to justify himself but demanded instead, "What the hell were you doing? What are all those for?"

"All what?" asked Chris even as he pushed the daggers out of sight by swatting blindly behind his back.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the couch, sitting up in order to stress his unyielding demands for information. "Those daggers!"

The last glint of silver vanished behind a massive tome, and Chris asked, "What daggers?"

Sam stared at him, unable to believe the amounts of innocence Chris was pouring off.

"You just shoved them behind all those books!"

"…No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! I just saw you do it!"

"Plausible deniability, Sam."

A moment passed and Sam became aware that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. Then, he said just as flatly as Chris, "There is something wrong with you."

Chris snorted dryly as he turned around and sank into the chair. He pulled a book towards him and muttered under his breath, "You have no idea."

Sam gazed at him blankly for another minute. Deciding he had nothing really to say, he turned over on the lumpy, inconvenient couch and pulled the blanket over his head. His last thought before sleep overcame him was, _There is no way I__'__m going to let him keep his damned secrets much longer. He must be crazy if he thinks he__'__ll get away with it._

* * *

The next time Sam saw Chris was two days later, when the kid literally stumbled into their room sometime after midnight, looking white with exhaustion.

"Oh, my God," Sam said, on his feet an instant. "Are you alright?"

"Great," Chris said, tersely. The very next second, he was lurching sideways, and Sam had to grab his arm to keep him from falling.

"Yeah, I can see that," he said wryly, tugging Chris towards the couch.

"I don't need-"Chris began, trying to pull away.

"Yeah, you do," Sam cut in, his grip on the younger man's arm tightening.

With surprising strength, Chris wrenched his hand away...and then nearly fell flat on his face.

"Oh, for crying out 'loud!" Sam grabbed Chris's arm again. "Sit down before you fall down! What the hell happened to you, anyway?"

"I was in the Underworld, undercover. I had to do a few things to convince the Scabber Demons I was really one of them when I arrived late last time."

"What kind of things?" Sam asked.

Chris gave him a flat stare. "You don't want to know."

_Well, if that__'__s the way you want to play it._ Sam's jaw set. "I'm getting Paige."

"What?" Chris's head snapped up. "Why?"

"Why?" Sam said incredulously, "So she can call Leo!"

"I'm not injured- just really low on energy," Chris said, "Whitelighter healing won't help with this."

"Oh, yeah? Then what will? Because if you think I'm going to let you-"

"Glucose," Chris interrupted him.

Sam blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"There's a carton of _Glucon D_ in the first drawer," Chris said matter-of-factly, nodding towards the desk. "My blood sugar level has gotta be pretty low right now. Plus, I need water. I think I'm dehydrated."

"You _think?"_ Sam walked to the desk and rummaged through the first drawer until he found what he was looking for. The fact that the box was two-thirds empty didn't escape him. Exactly how often had Chris done this before, anyway? He felt chilled at the thoguht. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Well, Scabber Demons only feed once every few days," Chris said as he spooned glucose into his mouth, which, Sam noted, was trembling. "I couldn't eat when I was undercover, or they would have gotten suspicious."

"I'm sorry, did you just say you hadn't eaten in _two days?_" Sam exclaimed, aghast. "You need a hell of a lot more than glucose!"

"Uh, no, actually, I don't," Chris said, and Sam had to admit, grudgingly, that he was already looking less pale. Glucose worked quickly, and he was surprised he and Dean had never thought to use it before. Chris was nothing if not resourceful. "And you wouldn't either if you'd been undercover with Scabber Demons. Watching a bunch of vaguely humanoid figures spurting icky green stuff from their mouths for two days straight tends to dampen one's appetite a little."

Sam grimaced from the image alone. Maybe food wasn't such a wonderful idea after all.

Wordlessly, he handed Chris the bottle of water that he always kept by his desk, and watched as the young man gulped it down eagerly. Sam wondered how often Scabber demons drank water, or, for that matter, if they even needed to; and cut that thought off abruptly. It didn't bear thinking about.

His eyes widened when Chris made as if to get up. "What do you think you're doing?" he said sharply.

"Research," Chris answered, looking surprised. "I always research stuff at night, you know that-"

"You need to sleep," Sam interrupted him, firmly.

"Sam, I'm fi-"

"No, you're not. Now, I don't care if you have insomnia or nightmares or freaking _night terrors_; if you don't want me to call Paige, you are going to stop arguing and lie down _now._ Or I _will_ call Paige."

"Are you putting your foot down, Sam?" Chris said, with a slight smirk, and the expression, the tone was so _Dean_ that Sam forgot for a moment who he was talking to.

"You bet I am, jerk," he said, and then froze, unable to believe that he'd just called said that to someone other than his brother.

For a moment, he just stood there in stunned silence, and then Chris's voice filtered through the haze surrounding him, gentler than he had ever heard it. "Sam. It's alright. I'll...I'll pretend you didn't say it."

Sam continued to stare at him dazedly, until he realized the implications of Chris's words. Chris knew about Dean. He knew that Sam had used to call Dean 'jerk.' And from the look in the younger man's eyes, Sam could also see that Chris had some idea of how much Dean meant to him.

"Exactly how long have you known me?" he asked, his voice hushed.

At once, Chris's expression became guarded. "You know I can't tell you that," he said.

Sam was tempted to push it, but knew it would be pointless if he did. The only time Chris ever let slip any information was when he was caught off guard, and that didn't happen very often. He changed the topic to the more pressing issue at hand.

"Anyway, you have to sleep. You were practically fainting when you came in here-"

"I was not," Chris interrupted, glaring at him.

"Oh, so lurching around like a drunk is a hobby for you?" Sam shot back.

"Damn straight," Chris smirked.

_"__Chris,"_ Sam hissed, more than a little irritated at the way the younger man kept derailing the conversation. "Quit fucking around."

Chris's eyebrows shot up at the uncharacteristic profanity. Sam had never sworn in front of him before...of course, _that_ Sam had been a good twenty years older than he was.

"Fine," he ground out, giving in at last. Even he couldn't shake off his bone weariness today, and he knew it. "Just-" He stopped, his pride refusing to let him say the words aloud.

Sam heard them anyway. "I'll wake you," he said softly. "If I so much as see you move, I'll wake you. I won't leave."

Chris nodded; his throat threatening to close as he remembered how many times Sam had done this for him in the future, and how often _he_ had done it for Sam. He had missed it so much that even having it back like _this_, _here,_ was enough.

"Thank you," he said, for once not trying to disguise the wealth of emotion behind the words.

And then he lay down; and for the first time since he had come here, felt safe as the exhaustion carried him off into the darkness off sleep.

Sam was watching over him.

* * *

"I can't believe we let Chris talk us into this," Piper grumbled as she filled a vial with Vanquishing Potion.

"I know," said Phoebe as she pulled on her walking shoes. "I could have been in Hong Kong enjoying some quality time with Jason, and instead we're going on a _demon hunt._"

She scowled at the cauldron full of Potion on the kitchen counter as though it was cockroach or something equally reprehensible.

"I'm surprised _you_ agreed so easily to this, Paige," Piper said as their little sister walked into the room, armed with an athame. "It usually takes a lot more to pry you away from Richard these days."

"Ha, ha, hilarious," Paige snarked. "To be honest, though, I felt kind of guilty. I think Chris has been tackling the demon hunts we don't have time for by himself. I don't think last week was an isolated incident, and if he won't even come to us when he needs healing..." She let the sentence trail for a moment. "Besides, we can't let him get hurt going after things only the Power of Three can defeat."

"You think he'd actually do that?" asked Piper, worried despite herself. All said and done, she didn't hate the kid enough to want him to get killed, and she was pretty sure her sisters felt the same way.

"Well, we all know how obsessed he can get," Phoebe said, also looking troubled. Dismayed, she added, "Oh, no. You know what this means, don't you?"

"What?" Piper asked.

"We can't skip out on so many demon hunts anymore," said Phoebe. "We have to make sure Chris doesn't get in over his head, we can't have him killed on our watch-"

"Damn it!" Piper exclaimed, fuming, "He's not an innocent! We shouldn't have to look out for him and sacrifice our lives just to keep him from getting himself killed!"

"I know!" said Paige in agreement, "but there's no use trying to taking him into sense, he's so intense about _everything_..."

Piper was about to respond when the she was cut off by her cell phone ringing. She frowned when she saw Sheila Morris's name flashing on the screen. They weren't late, were they? She picked up.

"Hey Sheila...oh, my God, is it serious? ...No, that's fine, obviously Darryl Junior has to come first. We'll figure something out. You just worry about D.J., okay? Yeah, sure. Bye." She turned to her sisters, frowning. "Sheila can't babysit Wyatt. D.J.'s got a fever- nothing serious, but they're taking him to the doctor's just to be safe."

"But we can't skip out on this hunt," Phoebe said. "This demon is powerful- there isn't even a known Vanquishing Potion for it! If Chris goes after it by himself..."

"Damn him!" Piper exclaimed, beyond annoyed now. "He's an adult, for God's sake; we shouldn't have to babysit him as well as Wyatt! Besides, it's not like we have too many options besides Sheila. Who are we going to ask, The Babysitters Club?"

"We could ask Sam," suggested Paige.

Piper blinked in surprise, "Paige, we don't even know him."

"Oh, come on, Piper. We heard his story from him when he was under a truth spell. We know him about as well as anyone."

"I know, but he's still a stranger, Paige," said Piper, and Phoebe nodded. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable leaving Wyatt with him."

"He's a mortal; he's no threat to Wyatt," Paige said, "And I've been spending a lot of time with him, you know, talking to him and stuff; plus, I've been on a few hunts with him. He's already become more scrupulous, and he's pretty trustworthy. We could do worse."

There was a tense moment of silence as Phoebe and Paige watched Piper's face. The mother's mouth was a thin line as her mind reeled through the possibilities of leaving her son in the hands of a stranger on her sister's word of assurance alone. Paige could almost feel herself shrink in the face of this new evaluation of her judgement, and she silently prayed she wasn't making a huge mistake for suggesting such a thing.

"Fine," Piper said, the word falling out blankly after a length. "If you're vouching for him, then I guess I'm okay with that." She glanced at Phoebe, who nodded her assent.

"But all this depends on whether or not Sam will _agree_ to babysit Wyatt," the latter pointed out. "We haven't even asked him yet."

"Oh, don't worry about that part," Paige interrupted. "Just leave it to me..."

* * *

"We'll let you look at the Book of Shadows," said Paige, not even raising her voice.

The desired effect was immediate: Sam stopped, mid-tirade, his mouth hanging open in the act of forming his next word- which never came out. Instead, he made strange sounds that finally ended with, "You… what?"

Paige smirked, undeniably pleased with herself for recognizing the hidden bookworm behind her death-and-gore charge. As soon as she had introduced the idea of Sam babysitting Wyatt, he had exploded with indignation and excuses. Now, he was gaping speechlessly at her. She decided to drive the nail in. "If you watch over Wyatt for a few teensy, speedy little hours, you can look at our Book of Shadows while you're at it. You know, flip through at your leisure… research questions that may have been bugging you… maybe even take a few notes…." She raised an eyebrow at him, trying for a persuasive expression. It didn't take much to convince him, though.

The battle waged on his face, pro-bullets hitting all the little con-soldiers and keeping them down. It was over before Sam even knew what he was saying. "When?"

Paige grinned. "Right now. Come on."

She took his arm and orbed out before the man could realize what he had agreed to- before he could change his mind.

They reappeared in the sun room where Wyatt stood staring at them from his playpen.

"Alright, there're diapers in this closet, and there's always food in the fridge in case he gets hungry. Piper just fed him, though, but you know how little kids are…. He should stay in his playpen most of the time, but take him with you if you leave the room for more than a few minutes, and keep a weather eye open. We might come back in a hurry and need to get everyone out. Besides that, don't let him watch TV. Piper's been on a rampage about that since that whole dragon incident…."

"The _what_ incident?" asked Sam, having barely kept up with her pace but heard one word loud and clear.

Paige made a brushing motion as though to sweep the question away. "You've seen vampires, zombies, and Santa Claus, dude. Why not dragons. Now, we really should be running. If you have any questions… well, just use common sense. I probably shouldn't say call me in case you _do_ and I get killed answering the phone, haha. Good luck!"

She zipped out the door towards Piper's call, leaving Sam alone with the child.

The two stared at each other for about a second, then Sam turned and jogged up the stairs to get the Book.

* * *

Chris swallowed hard as he tore out a page from one of his ancient tomes. He folded it slowly, neatly, and placed it into his pocket. He felt bad about doing this- he really did- but sometimes there were no alternatives. He hated lying, especially to his family and Sam… but it was for their own good. So what if they hated him for it? They would grow to understand. They would get over it, eventually. They would appreciate it in the long run.

He stopped his mental monologue when he realized he was only trying to convince himself.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and orbed to the Manor.

Sam, who had spread out with notebooks, papers, various books, and The Book, glanced up upon his arrival. He had obviously been at it for some time.

Chris threw himself into the act at once.

He rushed forward, his expression guarded as usual but letting trace amounts of stressed intensity leaking through the cracks. "Sam!"

"Chris," Sam began at the same time, rising to his feet. "I thought you were with the sisters chasing that demon you sicked them on."

"Yeah, I was," said Chris, feeling his gut burning in rage against its owner at the lie, "but it turns out the demon is one of your kind. They need your help- _now_."

Sam blinked a few times and asserted dazedly, "Yeah. Of course. Whatever I can do."

"Good. I'm orbing you to them." Without further preamble, Chris waved his hand and Sam vanished in a flurry of blue-white beads.

Silence met this abrupt departure. Chris allowed himself to slump his shoulders again.

While the Charmed Ones would be surprised by Sam's arrival, they would still be grateful. The demon really was one of Sam's kind- not that Chris had told them that beforehand. If he had, they never would have left Sam at the Manor when they could have used him from the start… and if they hadn't left him, Chris would have had to find a way to get rid of whoever it was they entrusted Wyatt's care. Sam was the easiest to get rid of, and the one with the most legit excuse.

Now he had Wyatt to himself for at least five minutes. He figured that was the most he could hope for.

Taking a deep breath, Chris pulled the paper from his pocket and walked over to Wyatt's playpen. The child looked up at him from beneath curly golden tresses, big blue eyes wide with innocence. He was the picture perfect angel.

Chris grabbed his sense of bitterness at the thought and let it fill him.

* * *

TBC…


	6. Those Final Doubts

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 6: Those Final Doubts

...

_You didn't wait for me to help you out  
I would've stayed to clear those final doubts  
How suddenly the whole world can change overnight  
How suddenly the whole world knows your name..._

Temposhark,_ "It's Better to Have Loved."_

...

"DOWN!" Sam yelled, and Paige ducked just in time to avoid getting herself stabbed in the head by Ruby's knife. Sam swore violently as the demon also ducked just in time to avoid getting herself stabbed in the head by Ruby's knife. It clattered harmlessly to the floor several feet out of reach. The demon smirked and advanced again.

"We have to come up with another plan, fast!" shouted Piper as she similarly ducked and dodged another demon of Sam's sort. "Any ideas, Hunter-boy?" She broke off sharply and screamed in shock as the demon managed to slam her telekinetically against the cave wall and hold her limbs utterly immobile. Her eyes were wide in shock.

"Piper!" cried Paige, and she was immediately likewise disposed by the demon. The two Charmed Ones struggled furiously against the invisible force as Phoebe snuck up behind the demon with a rock almost half her size. She attempted to knock the demon in the back of the head, but it was too fast. Before Sam could intervene, Phoebe and the demon were locked in hand to hand combat.

"We can't exorcise them without a Devil's Trap!" Sam yelled. "They won't give us enough time for the incantation, otherwise!"

The demon which Sam had thrown Ruby's knife at continued advancing towards him. It was possessing a beautiful female body and Sam couldn't help but recall Meg, how the demon had destroyed her sweet appearance, cut her hair, and dressed her like a slut. Meg, the angry, restless ghost of a former college girl. Had the demon done the same to this poor girl?

His thoughts were taken from the memories, however, as the demon drawled with a smirk, "Sammy Winchester, what a pleasant surprise. You've been pretty mean to me and my folks in the Pit, you know. A lot of us would give another thousand years down there just to take you with us.... Who would have thought it'd be little old me?" Her expression was fixed as she stared at Sam, nothing changing except the hungry gleam in her eyes that swelled with ferocity every second Sam kept contact with them.

Sam swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes dangerously. "No one's going to the Pit today except you, bitch." He reached under his jacket, hand grasping for the Colt, but the demon was faster. She hurtled him viciously across the cave and into the wall, which he hit with a resounding thud. There was another scream in the cave as Phoebe received a hard kick to the temple and crumpled to ground. Paige and Piper both screamed her name in alarm and fear, but there was no response.

The two demon girls smirked at each other and turned their attention on Piper, Paige, and Sam, the first two of whom still struggled futilely. Sam regarded the demons coldly and silently, his mind whirling with half-baked plans and possibilities. He was trapped.... but all he needed was a single opening....

"Sammy Winchester," acknowledged the one who had been fighting Phoebe. She strolled slowly up the Sam, who felt his lip automatically begin to sneer in disgust. The demon laughed quietly at him. Then she said the only thing she could have to lose the battle. "You know, you're never as much fun as you were before Dean got himself killed. He was always my favorite, though. Too bad he had to die for _your_ lame ass."

Sam didn't even think about it. Within a nanosecond, he had freed himself from the invisible force with a power of his own and pulled the Colt out of his inner pocket. They didn't utter a single gasp of surprise before Sam had put two bullets in their heads and remained crouched, unmoving, with the gun still outstretched and smoking. The bodies folded to the cold stone floor lifelessly, their foreheads oozing crimson.

There was a brief beat of silence, then Piper and Paige fell to the ground with a collective 'oof.' Silence rang out as they got slowly to their feet. After a moment, Paige moved to check on Phoebe, and Piper approached Sam. Their eyes locked. Piper reached out slowly and pushed his outstretched arm down.

"Those two demons," she said. "They were human girls, weren't they?"

Sam stared at her mutely.

Piper continued bluntly, "They didn't vanish in smoke... they're dead girls."

Sam just nodded. He stood up and glanced at the entrance of the cave, where they could hear the distant rumbling of feet and clanking steel. More demons were coming, and there was no telling which kind. He glanced around, wondering if he could draw a quick Devil's Trap somewhere.

Piper ignored the noise. Her eyes were fixed on the bodies. "What do we do?" she asked shakily. "How do we let their families know... know what happened to them? This just looks like plain murder...."

"We've got bigger problems to worry about," Sam returned flatly, indicating the entrance just as demons began to burst through.

"Those are definitely our kind!" called Paige from across the cave as she helped Phoebe up.

Phoebe glanced at them woozily. Her eyes instantly widened, alert. "Upper level. Sam- you have to leave- _now_!"

Paige must have agreed, maybe because she was supposed to protect him, for she waved her hand without another word and Sam felt himself dissolving in the newly familiar orblights.

...

Sam blinked, taking a moment to readjust to the abrupt change in surroundings. The Charmed Ones had orbed him back to the manor. He recalled their expressions when he had killed the demon, and winced. There was going to be hell to pay for that later, not that there was anything else he could have done.

Sighing, he looked around, wondering where Chris was. Maybe Wyatt had needed feeding or something? A sudden desire to see Chris baby-sitting made him smirk. Oh, God, he had to see this.

He strode towards the nursery, an amused comment on the tip of his tongue; but it died away when he entered the room. A black-robed figure was standing over Wyatt's crib, some kind of energy emanating from its gnarled hands. And Chris...Chris was standing next to him, arms crossed over his chest as he waited expectantly. They both looked up, startled at Sam's entry. The black-robed figured shimmered away, leaving the hunter and the witch-lighter to stare at each other.

Sam rushed forward, shoving an unresisting, stricken-faced Chris away from Wyatt's cradle, and gathering the child up with his right arm. With his other hand, he whipped out his gun flicked off the safety, and pointed it at Chris.

"You son of a bitch," he breathed, suppressed fury in his words as he backed away from the other man, intent on putting as much distance as possible between him and Wyatt. But the gun in his hand was steady.

"Sam, I can explain," Chris said, trying to sound calm.

"Shut up," Sam hissed. "I thought the Charmed Ones were wrong about you- I _trusted_ you! They told me to take care of their kid, and I handed him over to you without thinking twice about it, you bastard!"

"Sam, this isn't what it looks like!" Chris said, sounding frantic, "I only did what I did for Wyatt's sake, to save him. I know that doesn't make any sense, but it's true! You _have_ to believe me."

"_Believe_ _you?_" Sam said in disgust. "I'm supposed to _believe_ that you brought a _demon_ into the manor, into Wyatt's _nursery_, to his freaking _crib_, in order to save him? How stupid do you think I am?"

Chris was silent, staring at him with an expression which he was too angry to bother deciphering.

"You're not trying to save him, Chris!" he shouted furiously. "You're trying to kill him, or turn him, or-"

"Damn you!" Chris exploded suddenly, and Sam's eyes widened as magic filled the air and the windows began to rattle. "You can blame me all you want, but the truth is I'm fucking doing this for you! I won't lose you again!"

There was a stunned pause, and then Sam whispered, "Again?" He stared at Chris. "I thought you told me I didn't die in your future, Chris."

"_Didn't die?"_ Chris let out a wild, bitter laugh. "No, you _didn't die_, you bastard! I _wish_ you had. You were all I had left, and you knew it, but that didn't stop you from blowing your head off and fucking the world and everything we'd fought for! So don't you stand there and tell me _I'm_ the one who's messing up! _Don't you dare!_"

There was a ringing silence.

"Oh, my God," Sam whispered. So many things were starting to make a horrifying kind of sense now. _Oh, my God._

The whisper seemed to jerk Chris back into awareness. "Crap," he breathed, as he realized what he had just revealed. "Sam, I'm..."

"I killed myself?" Sam asked, still horrified. _"Why?"_

"You don't want to know, Sam," Chris said, sounding completely shattered. "Just, please, leave it alone."

"No," Sam said, "You don't get to tell me I _kill_ myself in the future and not tell me _why_!"

Chris sighed heavily. "It was Dean," he said, "He was a demon, and you- you couldn't take it."

"Wait, _what?_" Sam asked. "It takes centuries to-"

"Not if you have the Twice Blessed speeding up the process with a few nifty spells," Chris said grimly. "There's very little you can't do when you're the most powerful magical being in the world."

Sam gaped at him. "But why would _Wyatt_ do that?" he asked.

Chris met his eyes, his green eyes dark with anguish. "Wyatt turned evil," he said tightly. "He took over the Underworld, and then he took over the world, and then he took over the Up There. He has supreme power over everything, and anyone who questions him is made to regret it." He exhaled shakily. "I didn't come back here to save him _from_ evil, I came back here to prevent him from _turning_ evil. To save the future from him. And that demon just now?" he added. "He was just scanning for evil. I swear."

This time, Sam believed him. "But- what about Dean?" he asked, realizing a second later that it was the first thing that came to his mind after Chris's horrifying revelations. Not the fact that he had killed himself, not the fact that the world had apparently gone to hell, but Dean.

Chris noticed too, and smiled bitterly. Some things never changed.

"He's a great threat in the future," he said brutally. "He's wreaked a lot of havoc, taken a lot of lives."

Sam flinched, and Chris instantly regretted his harshness. This wasn't his Sam, he reminded himself. This Sam didn't know him. This Sam didn't have to give a fuck about him if he didn't want to. Besides, he knew the heartache of having your brother as your enemy.

"It isn't his fault," he said more gently. "But he needs to be stopped."

"So, what?" Sam asked, his voice trembling slightly. "You want to eradicate him somehow? Do some more time-travelling-"

"No," Chris interrupted with force. "I would never do that. He doesn't matter as much as you do. Not to the future, and not to me. The future- the Resistance- needs you. So I'm going to save him, because if that's the only way to keep you alive, it's a price I'm willing to pay."

Hope stirred in Sam's heart for the first time in years. Could Dean really be saved?

He stared at Chris, noting for the first time his flushed cheeks and how haunted his eyes were. Suddenly, he felt immeasurably humbled by how much this man obviously cared about him.

"Chris, I'm sorry," he said in a rush. "I haven't done it yet, but-"

"Don't, Sam," Chris interrupted, and Sam's gut clenched when he saw the sparkle of tears in his eyes before he turned away. "You're not the one I need to hear this from." His voice shook. "Don't make promises you know nothing about."

...

Sam sank down as Chris left in a sparkle of orbs. His head was reeling. Numbly, he replayed his entire conversation with Chris in his head, and shuddered. Dean... a _demon?_ And he, Sam, had _killed_ himself? He was so tempted not to believe it, so tempted to just chalk Chris's words down to lies. But he couldn't. The look in Chris's eyes, the devastation in his voice- there was no way he hadn't been telling the truth.

Dean a demon...fuck. It had always been the very worst part about the Deal. And the one thing Sam had been thankful for after his brother's death was that he would be dead centuries before his brother walked the earth as one of those he had once hunted, cold comfort as it was. The idea had shattered him, and somehow, it didn't surprise him that he hadn't been able to take it. Even though he had always believed suicide was cowardly, that he'd never be able to do it to his family and friends- except he hadn't had any friends and family when he'd done it- that was the point.

Except, apparently, he _had._ Chris. The hurt in his eyes...God. He tried to imagine what it would be like to go back to the past and live at a time when the people he loved- Dean and Dad, because by the look in his eyes, that was how Chris felt about him- didn't even know him, and found that he couldn't. It was unimaginable. How was Chris even able to function?

And then, there was Wyatt. He looked down, registering for the first time since Chris's departure that he was still holding the baby. And Wyatt looked back up at him, blue-eyed and innocent, and he couldn't imagine that this baby would grow up to become a monster. That he'd be the one to speed up the process of Dean's demonization- and that he would also be the one in command of Dean the demon, because although Chris hadn't said so, Sam wasn't stupid. The whole thing- it was impossible.

Except...he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Except, somehow, it wasn't.

...

He barely saw Chris over the next few days. The young man had buried himself deeper than ever in demon vanquishes (some of which the Charmed Ones were now, if very reluctantly, helping him with), and sometimes didn't return to the room for days at a time. Sam had a feeling that Chris was consciously trying to avoid him, and he didn't blame him.

Things were now unbearably awkward between them, and on the rare occasions when they were in the room at the same time, they spoke to each other very little, if at all. The only thing on Sam's mind every time he saw Chris was how Dean could be saved, because now that he knew it was possible, he was finding it impossible to let it go. It was the first hope he'd had in years.

But the exhaustion on Chris's face every time he saw him made him hesitate. He really didn't want to be pushy about this and give Chris the impression that he didn't trust him to keep his word; especially since Chris had told him in so many words that he was saving Dean to save Sam, because that was what Sam meant to him. He kept wondering how much the whole situation of living with someone who you'd loved and then lost and then found again, but not as himself, must be killing Chris. How old was the kid anyway? Twenty, twenty-two? Way too young to have the weight of a world on his shoulders. So he held his tongue, and waited for Chris to bring it up himself.

But Chris seemed to have no intention of doing so. Sam couldn't help but think there was some particular reason he was procrastinating. When two weeks had gone by, the impatience grew too much. Every day Dean rotted in hell was another day closer to the day he would become a demon, and that idea, along with the thought of his brother's suffering even a day longer when he could be saved, weighed on Sam so incessantly that he began to feel like he was in hell himself.

One morning, when Chris stumbled into the room looking marginally less exhausted than usual, he decided he couldn't wait anymore.

"When are we going to save Dean?"

The bluntness of the question stopped Chris dead in his tracks in the doorway of their room at P3. It was only then that Sam realized Chris had actually been eating, as there was a half bagel frozen mid-chew in his mouth. The Halliwell blinked at him, stunned. Sam didn't even think about apologizing for springing the subject on Chris, but ploughed on, "What's the plan? How are we going to save him? We're wasting time every day you avoid me!"

Chris continued staring at him, wide-eyed. After a moment, he seemed to realize he was eating and resumed chewing. He stepped out of the doorway and sat gingerly on the edge of his chair. "Look..." he began after he swallowed. "I know I said we could save Dean, but... it all depends on us saving Wyatt first, doesn't it? He's the one that actually increases the speed of the transformation, so once Wyatt's saved, we'll have time for Dean.... Right now I think I've got a new lead on Wyatt. I just have to give my informants a little time so I don't look too eager, and then..."

Sam forced himself not to let his jaw drop. Of _course_ Chris was putting Wyatt first. Wyatt was the worst of their problems. But Sam still couldn't erase the slight resentment that stung him at the obvious focus of Chris' attention.

"When we do focus on Dean," said Sam, his words coming out slow and measured as he tried not to appear petulant, "what are our options? How are we bringing him back?"

Chris looked like he had swallowed a bug. "Bring him _back_? Sam, when the hell did we decide on _resurrection_?"

Sam crossed his arms, no longer caring that he was showing where his true thoughts lay. "It can be done. We just need to figure out the way."

Chris stared at him, unable to believe what he was suggesting. "Bringing someone back from the dead _never works_. Good God, even _I've_ never heard of someone who can do it flawlessly. The very attempt could be -_disastrous_!"

"Well, how else are we going to save him?" demanded Sam, jumping to his feet. "You're the one with the plans and lunatic schemes! You're the one who suggested it! _You_ tell _me_!"

Chris opened his mouth, still looking stunned, when a new voice asked,

"What plans and lunatic schemes? What's going on here?"

Chris' face blanched. Even Sam froze for a split second.

Paige stood in the doorway, confusion and suspicion waging war in her eyes. She crossed her arms in a much more resolute stance than Sam could have dreamed of executing. "What are you planning, Chris?"

"Nothing!"

It was too fast. Sam had the sudden urge to cringe at himself. Chris had found himself stuck between lying to his charges - again- and protecting Sam, when Sam had caused this situation in the first place. He wanted to smack himself. This was just going to make things even harder for Chris, when he already had more than enough to deal with.

Paige's eyes narrowed. "Oh, really?" She snapped her attention to Sam, who physically jumped at that suddenness of it. "What's he trying to get you to do? You said he suggested something in the first place." Her tone brooked no arguments.

Sam floundered. "N-nothing. It's- it's just... personal stuff." He grasped on this new non-lie and nodded firmly, as if affirming it. "Trust me, you wouldn't find it interesting. It's just guy-stuff."

"...Guy stuff..." Paige repeated, utterly unconvinced. "Right...." She shook her head, leaving it alone for the moment, and commented to Chris, "Piper just wanted me to let you know she couldn't find that demon in the Book. What do you want to do about it, now?"

Chris swung around to his desk and pulled forward his own huge book. "Tell her to look harder. I saw it in there just last week."

Paige rolled her eyes and nonchalantly waved a hand as she began walking out the door. "Right. She'll love that...."

Sam and Chris waited with bated breath for the sound of her orbs. When it finally came, they both sank back into their respective seats, deflating.

"Great," Chris grumbled. "She's probably going to go tell Piper I've roped you into some more of my 'evil plans' and neither of us will get any peace." He turned back to his desk and flipped open a tome he frequented, effectively ignoring Sam. Sam sighed heavily and flopped back onto the lumpy old couch. He was counting spots of mildew on the ceiling when he thought he heard Chris scoff from the desk and mutter, "_Guy stuff_."

Sam glanced over to see Chris shake his head. Sam was about to lay back down in a moody huff when he caught the glimpse of a smile. Sam froze for a moment at the plain sight of it, and then Chris returned to his work. Sam gave a crooked grin and laid back down, a little more okay with the situation than he was before.

...

TBC...


	7. Praying that You'll Make It

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 7: Praying that You'll Make It

A/N: Hey…so we're back! We'd both like to apologise profusely for the two year delay in posting. It was inexcusable, and we can only say that we're very, very sorry and that we'll try our best not to let something like this happen again! The difficulties of trans-continental writing notwithstanding! Rest assured we are both committed to seeing this story through, and we hope that we haven't lost too many reviewers along the way.

* * *

_Do you know what youre fate is?  
And now you're trying to shake it?  
You're doing youre best dance, youre best look  
You're praying that you'll make it._

_- One Republic, Say (All I Need)_

* * *

Chris sighed in frustration, pushing the book away from him. It was no use, he just couldn't concentrate. The last few days, the awkward silences between him and Sam and the cold treatment he was getting from the Charmed Ones was getting to him more than he liked to admit. Thankfully, Sam hadn't brought up saving Dean again, though Chris could tell it was always on his mind. He was grateful for the respite, but he knew Sam had by no means given up on getting Dean out of hell. The only thing holding him back was the way the sisters had been treating Chris.

Paige had, of course, immediately reported everything she'd heard to Piper and Phoebe, with the result that they now trusted him even less than they previously had, if that was possible. Piper had actually barged into their room and demanded to know what he was planning. Chris had stood his ground and given her the worn-out excuse of "future consequences." She had stormed at him for a full half an hour, completely ignoring Sam, who had sat on the couch watching the exchange with widened eyes, unable to get a word in edgeways. She had finally left saying that if he ever hurt either Wyatt or Sam in any way, she would blow him up.

"Wow," Sam said dazedly after she had slammed the door to their room, "She's really..."

"...protective," said Chris, rubbing his forehead exhaustedly. Fighting with Piper had never been a pleasant experience even in the future, and that was when she actually knew he was her son. "Yeah, she is. And it seems she's decided _you_ need protecting from me now, too." He sighed, and then muttered, "I'm surprised she didn't throw me out of P3 and be done with it."

Sam stared at him, troubled. "She wouldn't actually do that, would she? I could talk to her-"

"_Please_, don't," Chris interrupted emphatically. "That's the last thing I need. She'll be even more convinced that I've got you under my 'evil influence'. And then she really would blow me up."

Since that conversation, Sam hadn't brought Dean up again. Chris was grateful, since it gave him time to think. And he needed time. It hadn't been true what he'd told Sam; that he'd never intended to bring Dean back. He had only acted stunned so that Sam would stop bugging him about it but he knew now that wouldn't work. The Sam he'd known in the future had been more patient, more willing to wait. They had made plans together to save their brothers; long, elaborate plans that had sometimes taken months to put together. They'd seen failure after failure but neither of them had ever given up. Not until- he cut the thought off abruptly.

The last plan he and Sam had been working on had yet to be put in motion. Chris had wanted to wait until he saved Wyatt before he acted on it but now he realised that wouldn't work. This Sam was so different from his Sam. He was still fresh from his brother's loss, and he hadn't had years of experience working with the Charmed Ones. He wouldn't be patient; he'd never give up on saving his brother now that he knew it was a possibility. He would bring it up again, and Chris would say no and then they'd fight about it and Sam would go and do something stupid and then the Charmed Ones would get involved... He didn't think he could take arguing with Sam on top of everything else. He was barely holding it together as it was.

And the stark truth was that he was no closer to finding out who had turned Wyatt evil than he had been when he first came here. He got leads in the Underworld, but they were few and far between, and most of them didn't even survive the first stages of investigation. There weren't too many demons capable of getting to the Twice Blessed. Although he kept telling the sisters when he sent them on demon vanquishes that _this_ demon could be the one who had hurt Wyatt, many of the demons wouldn't even have been able to get past the wards around the manor, let alone past Wyatt's shield. Most of them were demons who would work with Wyatt at some point in the future, wreaking destruction on the Resistance and by taking them out he hoped that he'd changed the future for the better. But there had been so many of them. And none of them had been able to wreak more destruction than Dean.

He closed his eyes for a moment, consumed by memories of things he had never wanted to relive again, but would have to, if he did this. When he opened them again his gaze fell on Sam, who was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep, his long legs jutting off the edge. Even in sleep, his face wasn't completely peaceful. He could already see the traces of lines which he knew would deepen over the years until they became etched permanently on his face, not even disappearing when he smiled. Chris stared at Sam for a long moment and then sighed raggedly. He had made his decision.

* * *

Sam woke in the morning with the sensation that someone was staring at him. He sat up quickly, hand automatically going for the knife he kept under his pillow, and paused when he saw Chris sitting behind the desk, staring at him with an unblinking gaze.

"Chris?" Sam asked in confusion. "What time is it?" Chris was never there when he woke up.

Chris didn't answer, continuing to stare at him in that unnerving way, almost as though he was trying to see into his head. "If I told you there was a way to resurrect Dean," he said, and ignored Sam's sharply indrawn breath, "Would you be willing to trust me completely? Would you be willing to do exactly what I say, no questions asked?"

"Of course," Sam said without hesitation, trying to control the wild upsurge of hope in his heart. "I'd give my life if it meant-" He cut off the ill-chosen words abruptly. Pain flashed through Chris's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Sam almost thought he'd imagined it.

"I don't need you to do anything so drastic," he said coolly. "In fact, I don't need you to do anything at all. That's what I'm asking of you, that you let _me_ do everything. That you don't try to interfere in _any way_ with any of my plans. And, most of all, you give me your word that you won't tell the sisters anything unless I say it's okay."

Sam hesitated for a few moments while he absorbed this. He hadn't bargained for keeping secrets from the sisters, and he didn't really like being answerable to Chris. Then again, he hadn't told them about Wyatt turning evil in the future, so he supposed he was always keeping secrets from them. He knew that when it came down to it, obeying Chris's rules was a small price to pay if he could get his brother back. "If that's the only way to get him back, then fine," he said, "I swear."

Chris continued to stare at him for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Have you ever heard of The Tribunal?" he asked.

Sam remembered the name from the research he'd done on the Charmed Ones and their world. "They're the ultimate force of law in the magical world, aren't they? They're responsible for maintaining the balance of good and evil in the world. A triad of two Elders and one demon. All magical beings from nymphs to Elders are answerable to them."

Chris nodded in confirmation.

"But what does that have to do with Dean?"

"In the future the Charmed Ones' history is recorded in books. I read many of them before I came here, as research. A few months from now, they'll have to stand on trial before the Tribunal. I won't go into the details, but at the end of that trial The Tribunal resurrected a demon the Charmed Ones vanquished years ago."

"You want to _ask_ them to resurrect Dean?" Sam asked, disappointment washing over him when the younger man nodded. _This_ was Chris's great plan? "But that would never work. The first thing I read about them is that they can't actually interfere with the workings of the magical world unless-"

"-unless it's a matter that affects the balance of good and evil," Chris finished, giving him a grim smile. "Believe me, this does."

* * *

"...so we need you to convince Leo to get the Elders to grant us a hearing with the Tribunal," Chris finished. Sam stood silently by his side, following Chris's request that he let Chris do all the talking. It went against Sam's grain to let someone else plead his case for him, but he didn't really want to piss Chris off when he'd only just agreed to help him.

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?_" _Piper demanded.

"Because I didn't want to go to The Tribunal until after I'd saved Wyatt," said Chris.

"Why not?"

"I had my reasons."

Piper frowned, displeased by the evasive answer, and was clearly about to question him more, but Phoebe beat her to it. "So this was always part of your plan?" she asked. "You were always planning to resurrect Dean?"

"Yes," Chris said, his expression guarded and giving away nothing, "I came back to save them both."

"And you didn't think it necessary to tell us about this," Paige said angrily. "Not even when I was assigned as Sam's whitelighter. You didn't think it was something I might have needed to know?"

"I'm sorry," Chris said, not sounding sorry in the least, "But I told you, I never planned on doing this until after I saved Wyatt-"

"And who are you to make decisions like that?" Piper asked, "And now, what, you've randomly changed your plans? If you had a way of saving Sam's brother, why didn't you tell him at once? What right did you have to keep something like that from him?"

Chris was fast losing his patience. "You're seriously asking me why I thought saving your son, the all-powerful Twice Blessed, was more important than anything else?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, if you-"

"Piper?" Sam interrupted softly, unable to sit there in silence any longer. The situation was rapidly getting out of hand, and if he didn't take control now, the sisters would never agree to this. "I don't really care about Chris's plans, and I care even less why he decided to change them." He turned pleading eyes on them, letting them see the full extent of his desperation. "I just want to save my brother. Please. This is my only shot."

"Sam, we know you just want to save Dean," Paige said. "We get that. But you're too close to this. You don't realise-"

"What, that I might be manipulating him for some agenda of my own?" Chris interrupted harshly. "For God's sake, I'm not luring him into the Underworld! I came to you with this, didn't I? And even if I wanted to, do you really think I could fool the Tribunal? Newsflash, it's the most powerful force of magic in the world!"

There was a silence as the sisters considered this.

"Guys, I know you don't trust Chris," Sam said, "And I know you've known him for longer than I have. But I've lived with him, and I know him _better_ than you do. And I'd trust him with my life."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris go suddenly still at the words, but he concentrated his gaze on the Charmed Ones. They looked completely stunned, and for once, even Piper seemed at a loss for words.

"Leo always trusted your judgement, even when he didn't always agree with you," Chris said, looking at each of them in turn, and finally focussing on Paige. "Maybe you should do the same for your charge."

And then he took Sam's arm and orbed them back to their room.

"What did you do that for?" Sam asked when they'd re-materialised. "We'd almost convinced them!"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure we did convince them," Chris said, "But they'll want to discuss this amongst themselves before deciding anything for sure."

Sam nodded. "I still don't understand why we couldn't just have gone to the Elders ourselves," he said a few seconds later.

"That's because Leo trusts me even less than they do," Chris said. "And if he thought I was up to something he'd probably convince the Elders to deny my request. But if the sisters ask him _for_ us, he'd be more willing to consider it."

"He really hates you that much?" Sam asked, surprised. He had met Leo a few times, and he'd seemed a nice, peaceful kind of guy. Weren't Elders supposed to be pacifists?

Something dark and bitter passed over Chris's face. "You have no idea," he muttered. He walked over to his desk and pulled a massive book on special demonic types towards himself. He had just settled down to read when he felt Sam's gaze on him. He looked up. "What?"

"Can...can I ask you something? And don't think I'm questioning you, or you know, not trusting you," he added hurriedly. "I'm just...curious."

Chris stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face. "Go ahead."

"Why _did_ you change your plans?" Sam asked, "I mean, not that I'm not grateful, but the last time we talked, you were dead set against resurrecting Dean."

Chris studied him again for a long moment, as though trying to decide how honest he should be. "You found out about Wyatt turning evil and about Dean, and I never planned for that to happen," he said at last. "When situations change, so do plans."

Sam nodded, and Chris went back to his book. He had read half a page when Sam's voice again broke though his concentration. "Can I ask you something else?"

"I think you just did," Chris said, unable to suppress a sigh of exasperation.

Sam chose to ignore it. "Why _did_ you originally plan to save Wyatt before Dean? You already had a plan which you could have put into place right from the start. And it's not a very difficult, risky plan either; it's surprisingly above-board in terms of magical law, and it has very little chance of anyone getting hurt."

"I told you," Chris said, but this time he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. "Wyatt is more important-"

"No, it's more than that," Sam said. "I know you well enough by now to know that you never do anything without having a good reason for it. There's more to it."

Chris looked at him, startled. Sam met his gaze unwaveringly. _I've lived with him, and I know him better than you do,_ Sam had told the Charmed Ones. Chris sighed. He had forgotten how good Sam had always been at reading people. "The case we put before The Tribunal will be based on a lot of evidence from me," he said. "Evidence showing what the future is like and the kind of havoc both Dean and Wyatt wreak on the world if they aren't stopped. Anyone who has knowledge like that might be tempted to act on it, to change things. And that could have catastrophic repercussions. It could be disastrous if the sisters found out, for instance. That's why I made you promise not to tell them anything."

_ And you trust me to keep that promise, no questions asked_? Sam wondered silently, more than a little surprised. He hadn't thought Chris was capable of that kind of faith in him; in anyone for that matter. He'd never met anyone who played things closer to the vest. And yet he was being surprisingly forthcoming. Despite all the reasons Chris had given, he still found it hard to believe that there wasn't something else, something deeper, behind Chris's sudden willingness to change his plans.

And then he remembered the pain that had flashed through Chris's eyes when Sam had unwittingly reminded him of his death. _"I'm going to save him, because if that's the only way to keep you alive, it's a price I'm willing to pay,"_ Chris had said the day Sam had found out the truth about Dean and Wyatt. He remembered the anguish written on every line of Chris's face when he said that, and he remembered the panicked expression on his face when he tried to hide his knives. He closed his eyes as he finally realised what, or who, this drastic change of plans was all about.

And not for the first time, he wondered with a strange feeling of guilt for something he hadn't even done yet, how he could ever have killed himself when there was someone in the world who cared about him so much.

* * *

It took thirty-nine hours for the Charmed Ones to call Chris back. Chris counted them all, though Sam probably thought it was just another bizarre, intense reading spree with OCD-like glances at the clock. Sam hadn't hunted for the past few days, opting instead to research more into this new magical world. He sat on the couch behind Chris with his laptop and a dozen old books, mostly borrowed from Paige, making a sort of fort around him.

Chris recognized a few of the books. He and Wyatt had used them to answer the questions their parents didn't have time for, or weren't comfortable answering. Looking back on those times, Chris felt like he was remembering someone else's life. They had been as close as Sam and Dean in those childhood days. Like real brothers. _Good_ brothers.

And then Chris caught sight of _The Lost Arts of Magic,_ and he blinked. He hadn't thought of that book in ages. It had been Wyatt's personal favorite, but Chris had always avoided it. It gave him the creeps. Most of those "lost arts" seemed to be a good riddance. He looked at its flaking, damp-looking green binding and too-thick ivory pages and felt the temperature sink in his chest.

_Maybe_… Chris stopped himself. The book was only a tool. The evil had been in Wyatt already, drawing him to it in the first place. Still, though. He didn't like it that Sam was about to reach for it next.

_Chris! Chris, come here, and bring Sam!_

Chris snapped to attention, sitting up straight so fast that Sam jumped in surprise.

"The girls," said Chris, standing. "Come on."

He took Sam's arm and orbed back to the source of the call without waiting for a reply. And, just maybe, one of the books in Sam's stacks disappeared in scattered orblights, too.

The sight of Leo standing in his full Elder garb met them first. His disgruntled expression was the second thing they noticed, and the girls surrounding him on the couches looking curious was third. They were in the living room, Piper and Phoebe holding cups of hot tea and Paige bouncing in unconcealed restless energy.

"Well?" Chris asked without preamble. "What'd the Elders decide? You took damn long enough."

"On a deadline?" Leo shot back, challenging.

Chris noticed Sam giving him a look out of the corner of his eye, clearly telling him not to provoke the man that could get them back his brother. Fighting back a burst of anger, Chris bit his tongue.

After a moment of silence, Leo smirked. He'd won. His expression melted into seriousness again, however, and he announced, "The Elders have decided to let you go before the Tribunal-"

"_Yes_," said Sam, pumping his fist with one of the widest grins Chris had ever seen.

"-_provided_," Leo continued pointedly, "Chris isn't trying to waste their time or manipulate them for ulterior motives."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Well, now that you mention it," he said.

Leo met his glare head-on. "Your little 'future consequences' spiel isn't going to work on the Tribunal, Chris. I hope you realize that. You'll have to show them everything. Not tell them. Show them. So if you're lying about anything, they'll know. There is no way to twist facts or omit truths with them. They're the most powerful force of truth and judgement in the magical world. They'll squeeze every bit of truth and purpose out of you, and if they find you're wasting their time or trying to use them, they'll wipe your existence out of the books before you're ever born. Understood?"

Chris didn't flinch, though hearing Leo say it seemed to make everything he'd ever researched about them seem impossibly more real. Of course he understood. Of course he was planning for this. That didn't mean he still didn't have doubts, though.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

Leo stared at him a few seconds longer before nodding. "Fine. You've got two days to prepare. I suggest you start now."

Chris gave him a mock salute, grabbed Sam, and orbed again before the girls had time to assail him with questions.

Two days. Forty-eight more hours. He could cling to his secrets and hide his worst memories for forty-eight more hours.

Fuck. What was he thinking, doing this?

He glanced over at Sam, with that ridiculously hopeful, triumphant expression, and remembered. Sam. Right. Sam and Dean. The only combination of words that could ever make Sam look so happy.

Sam and Dean. And all he had to do was put some of the worst moments of his life on display.

He shook his head and sank back into his chair. He hoped it would be worth it.

"So," said Sam, unable to keep silent any longer. He sat down on the very edge of the couch, even more jittery than Paige. "How are we going to do this? What's our angle?"

"Well," said Chris, picking up an athame and tapping it absently against the desk. "I have to give them evidence that the future really sucks and it's in the interest of the entire magical world for Dean to be resurrected." He paused, let the athame thunk harder against the desk so that it stuck, and finished, "Before Wyatt gets a hold of him… and they destroy everything."

Sam stopped bouncing. He stared at the back of Chris' head. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Chris stared at the stuck dagger. A thousand replies swarmed his head, from completely honest to unfathomably cryptic. After a few seconds of silence and Sam staring a hole in the back of his head, he said softly, "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

* * *

TBC…


	8. And the Ground Caved In

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 8: And the Ground Caved In

* * *

_There was nothing in sight but memories left abandoned  
There was nowhere to hide, the ashes fell like snow  
And the ground caved in between where we were standing  
And your voice was all I heard that I get what I deserve_

Linkin Park, _"New Divide"_

* * *

The morning of the Tribunal hearing found Sam restlessly pacing the length of the tiny room he shared with Chris. He knew he was probably getting on Chris's nerves, but he couldn't help himself. As the hour which would decide his brother's fate loomed closer, extreme emotions of wild hope and deep anxiety and fear had warred inside him, robbing him of all peace of mind. He hadn't been able to sleep the previous night, and now, with less than two hours to go, he was too full of nervous energy to stand or sit in one place.

It didn't help in the slightest that Chris had dived into his preparations for the hearing and flatly refused to let Sam help or even talk to him about it. The younger man had spent the last two days glued to his desk, making notes which Sam couldn't even read because he was writing in code. Apparently he was making a list of events in the future so that he could choose what evidence to give the Tribunal and how to present it. When Sam told him that the hearing was on _his_ behalf and he needed to know everything, Chris stated flatly that it was out of the question.

"_But why?" _Sam had asked, nearly beside himself with frustration.

Chris set down his pen and sighed, an annoyed look on his face. "Because I'm mapping an entire timeline of the future," he said. "I can't have you seeing that! It's too risky."

"But I promised you I wouldn't tell anyone anything I found out about the future!"

"I know you did, and I believe you," said Chris. "Even so, there are some things about the future that even you can't know." At the look on Sam's face, he added quickly, "It's not about me not trusting you. But what if you end up finding out who your wife was before you even meet her? That would-"

"My _what?"_ Sam interrupted, eyes wide.

Chris smirked a little at the look on his face. "Relax. It's just an example. I'm not saying you actually get married…nor am I saying that you don't. My point is, some things are best left a mystery. Now can I please get back to saving your brother? Thanks."

Sam had stood there, sputtering wordlessly as Chris picked up his pen again and bent his head over his notebook. A number of choice words had been on the tip of his tongue, but he hadn't been able to think of anything that would change Chris's mind. He'd spent the last couple of days cooped up in the room with Chris, not knowing what to do to help, and not wanting to leave, either. It was no wonder he was going stir crazy.

"Would you please stop pacing?" Chris's voice interrupted his scattered thoughts. "You need to calm down. The Tribunal will know how anxious you are, but there's no need to put it on display. We need to convince them to resurrect Dean not because of any personal feelings you or I might have, but for the greater good. That's why I'll be arguing on your behalf, because I'm the more disinterested party. So I suggest you speak as little as possible."

"Fine. But-"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Piper, Paige and Phoebe entered the room, dressed in formal outfits. Piper, who had never been much of a morning person, was nursing a cup of coffee in her hands and a slight frown on her forehead, but Phoebe and Paige both looked irritatingly chipper. "So, big day, huh?" Paige said, bouncing up to Sam. She consulted her watch, "Only an hour to go. How do you feel?"

"I…"

"He's all warm inside and full of the jollies," Chris said, looking annoyed, "How do you think he feels? And what are you guys doing here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"At work?" Phoebe said the word as if she had no idea what it meant. "We all called in sick. We wouldn't want to miss the trial, would we?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Chris responded. "Have you _never_ heard of that phrase- what was it now? _Future consequences?"_

"If I hear those two words from you again, I swear, I'm going to blow you up!" Piper declared.

"Oh, please, Chris," Phoebe said at the same time, "Sam's going to the trial too, isn't he? What about the future consequences for him?"

"Sam _has_ to go because the trial is for him," Chris pointed out. "And anyway, even if I did agree to take you, it's against the rules. This is a Tribunal hearing, not a social event. Only people who are pleading a case or those who are speaking on their behalf are allowed to go before them."

"But that's not fair!" Paige exclaimed angrily. "We're the ones who_ told_ Leo to arrange this hearing for you!"

"Then take it up with him," Chris returned, rising and picking up his notebook. "I seriously doubt even Leo can get you in on a Tribunal hearing which has nothing to do with you, even if you are the Charmed Ones." He walked over to Sam and took his arm. "Now, if you don't mind, we have to be going."

He orbed out, leaving three very pissed off Charmed Ones behind them.

* * *

They waited at Magic School for the final hour to pass. It was a testament to Sam's anxiety that he only paced around the library, not picking up a single book to read the time away. Every nerve in his body was alive with tension and excitement. It had taken two years, closer to three now, for him to arrive at this point. He was finally going to get his chance to save his brother. With two minutes to go, Chris finally walked over to him. The young man's expression was the unyieldingly neutral one he used when the Halliwells were particularly ugly to him. Sam didn't know what it meant, besides that he was hiding something.

"Time to go," Chris muttered, taking his shoulder. He orbed.

They reappeared in blank, dark space on something that reminded Sam of the face of a sundial. The floor, traced in black and luminescent white lines, had a faint blue circle in the very centre. As their feet touched the black edge, a small steel and glass table appeared next to them, complete with two hard-looking chairs. For a few seconds, there was silence.

"Sit down," said Chris, though he took no such action himself. His face looked a little paler.

Sam sat. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked around, shoulders taut and jaws clenched. He swallowed hard. He was surrounded by pure magic. If something were to happen, Chris was his only lifeline. And even Chris was nervous.

Four enormous, translucent heads shimmered into existence above them.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin and did start to get out of his chair. Chris held out a hand to stay him.

"Honourable Tribunal," Chris began, his voice betraying very little of his nerves, "I am Christopher Perry, whitelighter of the Charmed Ones and Resistance fighter from the future. I'm here to argue on behalf of Sam Winchester in the resurrection of Dean Winchester, as it pertains to the balance of Good and Evil."

The nearest head – Adair – gave a nod, his expression solemn. "A hearing such as this is rare," he said, "as the offense has not yet occurred in this timeline. You understand our Cleaners are typically the ones to move between times to fix matters?"

"I do," said Chris. "But where I come from, the Cleaners have themselves been erased. Magic is exposed and Evil prevails above all else. This is the only solution."

"Then your opposing counsel shall come from the same time," said the head, "and we shall see."

The four heads turned to face the other side of the sundial floor. Another steel and glass table appeared with another hard-looking chair.

Sam watched as flames erupted out of the floor and suddenly a man stood where they had been. The man was tall – at least as tall as Sam, with just as broad shoulders and muscular build, though this man wore a tighter black shirt and jeans. His hair was shoulder-length, blond, and curly. He had appeared with his back to them and turned around. Sam saw a sharp nose, firm jaw, and icy turquoise eyes.

There was something familiar about him, Sam thought distantly. Before he could explore his memory, however, he was snapped from his thoughts by Chris backing into their table.

Chris' face was sheet white, his mouth slightly open. A storm of emotions battled across his face, each lasting only a split second before another raged across and took over: surprise, fear, fury, hatred, despair, and finally settling in a horrified panic.

Chris whirled on the Tribunal, hand still gripping the table to hold himself up. "_Are you insane_?" he shouted, the fear pervading his voice like a virus. "_What have you done?_ He'll kill you all! Send him back, _now_! Before it's too late! _Send him back!_"

"Chris, what –?" began Sam, the sheer sight of Chris' panic making his nerves go cold and numb.

"We cannot," said Crill, giving Chris a stern look down his nose. "The rules of the trial are beyond exemption. You must have an opposing counsel and, to avoid bias on your part, it must be a foe – your greatest opponent, both magically and emotionally."

"I know!" said Chris, the desperation creeping in and making him lean forward with urgency. "God, I know. But I never thought you'd conjure _him!_ Don't you understand? He can kill you all! He _did_ kill you all! You have to send him back! Conjure some enemy from _this_ timeline who doesn't have power over all of freaking creation! You've put all of us in danger right now!"

"What you're saying isn't possible," said Aramis. "The Tribunal is beyond the powers of mankind, witches and whitelighters included."

Chris gave out a laugh, and the sound of its absolute mirthlessness set Sam's teeth on edge. Chris said, "Impossible? Really? Well, take a look at _this_, then."

He pushed off from the table and strode forward into the circle of faint blue light.

A projection rose from the circle, filling the air above it with the image of the newcomer's face, perhaps a few years younger. It panned out almost immediately to include the very same room they stood in, and Chris, younger as well, but possibly even more stressed-looking than he was now.

"Wyatt, this isn't the way!" the younger Chris said, and Sam felt his breath catch in his throat.

_Wyatt? That_ was _Wyatt_?

The blond – Wyatt, ignored him and moved to the centre of black and white platform. "Tribunal!" he called. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"Wyatt!" said Chris again. He strode up to the other young man and grabbed his shoulder, jerking him around. "You can't do this! What the hell are you thinking? They'll kill us! Keep us from even being born, more like!"

"Christopher, if you're just going to be a pest, get out of my way," said Wyatt, removing Chris' hand from his shoulder with a contemptuous scowl. "I thought you'd like to witness the dawn of the new era first hand, but I can do without your constant nagging, you know." He turned back around to where the four heads were shimmering into existence and said, "Besides. They can't touch me. And they wouldn't dare touch you with me around."

Sam blinked, confused, at that statement. Actually this whole scene didn't feel right. Chris and Wyatt were on familiar terms? They seemed to be _friends_, even. Chris had never mentioned that part.

Sam felt unease crawl in his stomach.

The projection continued.

"Why have you summoned us, Halliwell?" Thrask demanded, his voice booming. "You are not an Elder; this is unacceptable. We should wipe you from the face of creation for this arrogance!"

"The Elders' time is over," said Wyatt. His voice didn't boom like the demon's, but the cold confidence gave it the same effect. "And we've had it with being forced to live underground. The time for magic to reign free in the world has come. I've come to offer you a choice. Join me and turn your powers to my cause or die!"

There was silence for a heartbeat, and then the demons and Elders chuckled.

Adair said, "We accept neither offers nor threats from anyone, Halliwell. Face your end. We cannot allow this travesty to go unpunished."

Wyatt's blue eyes narrowed. "Very well, Tribunal," he murmured. "I had hoped you would see sense, that you and I both want the end of good and evil, for demons and Elders to work together. But I see now that you are as set in your ways as the rest of the magical world. Goodbye, then. It's a shame."

Without another word, he raised his arms and electricity shot from his fingertips like lightning, striking all four Tribunal members directly.

The sound was incredible, even through the projection medium. Electricity roared like a million screaming birds. The Tribunal members cried out in agony, their voices providing the thunder and animalistic howl of wind. It lasted maybe a minute, and then the lightning stopped. The screams stopped. Smoke obscured everything. After another minute, the smoke had cleared enough to show Wyatt and Chris still standing, and the four heads gone, darkness swirling like a vortex where they had floated.

The projection disappeared.

"Well," said Wyatt, leaning back against his own table and crossing his arms over his chest. He smirked. "That's some introduction. Hello, Chris. What's this all about?"

"We have to send him back," said Adair, looking to his companions with something like fear. "Then we'll work on erasing him ourselves. The Charmed Ones only saw through a Cleaner's work."

"We can't send him back," said Crill. "The rules cannot be fought, even by us. This is his greatest enemy, so this must be his opposing counsel. There is no going back."

"Crill is right," said Thrask. "We are not capable of overriding the rules. Wyatt Halliwell must remain until the trial is decided."

Sam looked at Chris, determined to find out what was going on and why he hadn't been told, but Chris' expression held him back. The young man's face had hardened, a determination much like Sam's own covering it like a mask.

"Tribunal," said Chris, stepping away from the circle. "I believe I can reach an understanding with Wyatt if you'll just give us a few minutes of privacy."

Everyone stared at him.

Chris stared back, his posture set and chin high. Maybe Sam was the only one who noticed it because he had lived with him, but he could still detect a very strong sense of fear tightening Chris' shoulders. It was unnerving.

This must be like his worst nightmare coming to pass, Sam realized, if his emotions were so unguarded and on display. _Your greatest opponent, both magically and emotionally._

The Tribunal shared another round of looks before Aramis nodded. "You have it. Five minutes."

The heads swirled into darkness.

For another heartbeat, there was silence. Chris turned to look at Wyatt, who met his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"Sam, stay there," said Chris. He walked over to Wyatt's table.

Sam may have obeyed, but that didn't stop him from leaning forward and straining to hear.

"So, Chris, do you want to tell me what you think you're doing?" asked Wyatt, his voice deceptively mild.

"Wyatt," said Chris. "You're a year old. You can't destroy the Tribunal yet."

"On the contrary," said Wyatt. "I could destroy them at one year old in my sleep. You're avoiding the question. Why the hell did you call the Tribunal? Or have they finally decided to erase you for messing with the timeline? I told you it would be more dangerous than just lying to the Charmed Ones, but you never listen to me, do you?"

"I didn't mean you _can't_ destroy the Tribunal," said Chris, ignoring the latter questions completely again. "I mean it won't suit your plans. It'll harm more than help your rise. Remember what it was like when the witches found out they could use magic in the open without fearing the Cleaners? And they had _you_ to thank. I gained you at least _half_ your followers. But if you destroy them years before your big move, you'll have to rethink everything. You'll have to actually work to gain minions and prove your 'goodwill.'" He practically spat the last word, and Wyatt's eyes narrowed. Chris glared in return and continued, "You need them, Wyatt. At least for another twenty years. So play by the rules or the trial will turn to whether or not they should erase you themselves, and it'll just be a waste of valuable time. For both of us."

"That was never the question, Christopher," said Wyatt, his tone so quiet Sam almost couldn't hear. His eyes had turned cold, and the aura of latent power surrounding him sent cold chills down Sam's back. He couldn't believe this was _actually_ Wyatt, Piper's little cherubic baby. This man… Sam could believe he was the one to take over the world in the future. He believed everything now. The man, the danger, the horror of the future… Chris had never been kidding. Wyatt was the most powerful being in the world, and he had turned evil.

Wyatt continued, "If I am your opposing counsel, what am I opposing? If I'm going to follow the rules, so are you, Christopher. Tell me, or I start exploring how many people the future could really do without."

Chris was silent. He and Wyatt's gazes held one another's. Chris said, "I'm bringing Dean back. Now. Before you ever touch him."

That latent power Sam had felt before didn't feel so latent anymore. The temperature physically dropped, and maybe Sam was crazy, but he thought he felt a rough wind appeared out of nowhere.

Wyatt stood up straight and shoved the table away from him. He was at least as tall as Sam and practically towered over Chris, who didn't move and only turned his cold glare upward. Wyatt took another step toward Chris and grabbed the front of his shirt.

"There is a _limit_ to how much I will tolerate from you, Christopher," he snarled. "And you just crossed it. Dean Winchester is _mine!_"

Sam couldn't take that comment lying down – or sitting. He jumped to his feet, blood boiling, and snarled right back, "Dean Winchester isn't anyone's, you sick freak! He's my brother, not your fucking lapdog! Let's get that one thing straight, here!"

Wyatt released Chris and turned his fury towards Sam. He gave Sam a brief, contemptuous once-over and said, "Sam Winchester. Funny. I almost didn't recognize you with your head still attached."

"You son of a bitch!"

"Uh-oh, Chris," said Wyatt. "Look who –"

"Wyatt," snapped Chris. "That's enough. You know they can't know that."

"You're changing everything, Chris," Wyatt snapped back. "You really think you haven't already changed yourself? You're delusional if you think you'll still exist in your bright fucking new future! You're OCD about research; did you really miss _that_ little jewel?"

Chris met his gaze squarely, eyes just as hard and cold. "I still have time," he said quietly. "And you don't really want me to cease to exist. Come on. You'd much rather kill me yourself, I think."

Wyatt fell silent, glaring.

Sam was completely lost.

Wyatt eventually stepped back from Chris. He looked down at him and said, "You're right. I can't kill the Tribunal right now. I'll play along. But if you thought you'd ever see the future again – changed or otherwise – think again. If I ever catch sight of you in my territory, I _will_ kill you. I'm done with this, Christopher. You've betrayed me for the last time." He sent a look over Chris' shoulder at Sam and sneered, "I hope it was worth it."

He turned and walked back to his table, shoving it straight again and folding into the steel chair, arms crossed.

Chris didn't move for several long moments. He said softly, not looking at either of them, "When I fix everything, it will be."

Wyatt scoffed. Sam felt another twitch of defensive anger but forced himself to sit.

Chris sighed and walked back towards Sam just as the Tribunal returned.

"Has it been settled?" asked Aramis, looking between them. It stopped on Wyatt and said, "Will you cooperate in this trial peaceably, Halliwell?"

Wyatt rolled his eyes and held up two fingers. "Scout's honour."

"And Perry?" said Crill, nodding at Chris.

Chris nodded in return. "I will," he said.

"Good," said Crill. "Then let us begin."

"Well, then, first," said Wyatt, getting up and stepping forward before Chris could begin, "I would like to point out that this is nothing more than one of Chris' to-be-infamous temper tantrums, not a problem between Good and Evil, as is your function to monitor. Not only are my followers _not evil_ in the first place, Chris has a very personal grudge against Dean Winchester. He obviously wishes to eradicate my lieutenant now to stop him from committing a deed that will devastate Chris in the future. Only three months ago, Dean Winchester killed Christopher's fiancée, who had betrayed us and thus paid the price. Observe."

Wyatt stalked forward into the faint blue circle, and a projection streamed upward.

Sam watched, heart jumping into his throat, as his brother's face filled the circle. He didn't look a year older than when he'd died, but there was nothing familiar about his face. His eyes were solid black, and the wide grin that used to light up a room, or at least release tension after a hard hunt, belong in a C grade horror film. Blood trickled slowly from his nose, which looked freshly broken, as he pulled a woman's head back by the hair. He held a dagger to her throat.

The projection showed Chris, who also looked a little banged up from a fight, stop moving, terror flooding through the cracks in his mask. His eyes darted to a piece of paper lying between him and Dean, but he didn't move. He seemed to be torn between whatever was on that paper and the fear for the woman's life. His fiancée.

Dean's expression couldn't have been more psychotic. "Go ahead, Chrissie," he snarled, grinning. "Say the spell written on that little sheet of paper. I just hope your powers can heal the dead."

He cut her throat.

Chris screamed her name. Bianca. He dove for the sheet of paper even as her knees hit the ground, eyes already lifeless. He stuttered through the spell too fast to make sense of and started glowing a faint gold. He threw out a hand, sending Dean crashing straight through a wall. He threw out another hand and ripped Wyatt from his feet and into a pile of boxes. He staggered to her side, his face so open and terrified that Sam could feel his heart breaking.

"_No_," Sam could hear Chris whisper in the projection. His voice cracked even over that one word as he pulled her close, her still-flowing blood soaking his clothes. "_Please_, _n-no_…"

The projection vanished as Wyatt waved his hand over it.

"As you can see," said Wyatt, "Chris was clearly devastated by Dean's actions. Bianca was the love of his life. He would do anything – even summon the Tribunal to resurrect Dean as _good_ – to prevent that from ever happening."

"Well then, what are you doing here, Wyatt?" Chris snarled quietly. He had drifted back to the table during the display, and he was clenching the table so hard Sam was surprised the glass didn't shatter. His eyes were locked on Wyatt and not just a little bloodshot. "Saving your best lieutenant? Your reasons for arguing are just as personal as mine! Watch _this_ and tell me your reign doesn't depend on him. Watch _this_ and tell me you aren't fucking evil!"

He threw a hand out at the projection circle.

Beams of light shot upwards to display the Golden Gate Bridge, the view from a wide beam at the top. Wyatt stood there with two or three others Sam didn't recognize, except that they were probably demons. Wyatt was staring down at the road below, his expression narrow and displeased.

A skirmish seemed to be taking place below, with an incessant roar dulled by the distance, with flames and blood. There were probably two hundred people and demons, all on foot though abandoned cars littered the road.

The next second, two more figures shimmered into existence beside Wyatt.

One was Chris, fine except for a cut above one eyebrow, torn clothes, and a truly foul expression. The other was Dean, who was grinning despite the dark forming bruise along his jaw and equally destroyed clothing. Dean had locked Chris' arms behind his back and presently threw him to the ground at Wyatt's feet.

"Look who I found," said Dean, still grinning. "Damn this kid can throw a punch! Best duke-fest since I've been brought back. But I almost didn't recognize him by your description until he used telekinesis. Glad I didn't kill him."

Wyatt eyed the crumpled form at his feet and said, "Chris is a little tougher than that, Dean. I doubt you could accidentally kill him." He kicked Chris onto his back and said, "Me, however…. What did you think you were doing, Chris? I can't believe you would risk surfacing just for some lowly prisoners being transferred. Random anarchy isn't your style."

Chris scowled and got unsteadily to his feet. He had to hold himself up by propping one hand on his knee. Sam recognized damaged ribs when he saw them. "The Elders," he said, voice strained. "Tell me you didn't. Dear God, Wyatt, tell me the rumours aren't true."

Wyatt smirked. "Whatever you've heard is probably close to the truth," he said, turning back to the chaos below. "Dean and I drove them out of the heavens just this morning. The ones we didn't manage to kill should be hiding like cockroaches."

Something like despair flooded Chris' pained features and his shoulders sagged even more. "Wyatt… Jesus, man," he muttered. "There's no going back from that. Why did you…?"

"They were stuck in their old ideals," said Wyatt sharply. "They were airheaded bastards, stuck on their lofty perches and unwilling to see things my way. I gave them a choice, and they chose death. They're no different than anyone else, Chris. You used to understand."

"You destroyed good and you're allying with evil!" said Chris brandishing a hand at the demons on Wyatt's other side. "And – and –" Chris stopped, paused, and then turned around to Dean. "_Dean Winchester?_ You – you shimmered!"

"Hey, a fan!" said Dean. "Did I know you? You don't look old enough."

Chris stared at him, agape. "But… Sam said you only died twenty years ago. The process should take _centuries_…."

Dean stared at him. "You know Sam?"

Chris nodded mutely, still staring.

Dean stared at him some more. Then he blinked and the grin found its way back to his face. "Our buddy Wyatt here helped me out," he said. "He figured out a spell to speed up my – what shall we call it? – _re-education_. Hell turned me out in record time. Tell Sammy I said hi. You know. If Wyatt decides not to kill you now. I sure as hell would kick your ass off this bridge for starting that riot." He winked.

The present Chris waved a hand and the projection vanished.

"Wyatt found a spell to speed up the process of demonization," said Chris to the Tribunal. "He spent more time studying the Dark Arts and destroying everything good in the world than anything that would balance out the evil. He was evil, and he only used his 'only power' speech to justify himself to his Halliwell heritage. And, combined with Dean's power as a demon, they managed to wipe out the Elders almost entirely. Correct me if I'm wrong, but bringing up the Underworld and destroying the Elders qualifies as irrevocably tipping the balance of good and evil. He wouldn't have managed to kill the Elders without Dean Winchester's help, so I believe that bringing Dean back now, on the side of good, would ensure the balance of the future – or at least give us a fighting chance."

Wyatt stood without giving Chris' speech a second to sink in and announced how Chris' point of view was still flawed because of his bias. More images flared into life in the Circle of Truth.

Sam watched in a state of numb horror as the two witch-whitelighters battled. Chris threw on scene after scene of Dean killing innocents and witches – battles, interrogations, instances Sam couldn't make heads or tails of – trying to prove his essential role in the overpowering force of evil. Wyatt countered by showing scene after scene of Dean killing and torturing Chris' loved ones – friends, cousins, uncles, even his grandpa – trying to prove Chris' bias.

After the first few memories, it all just started to blur together. One thing was clear, though- the future was as close to hell as you could get without actually being down in the pit. No wonder Chris didn't like talking about it. It was a bloodbath of epic proportions. And Dean was right in the middle of it of it.

Sam stared mutely, hollowly, at his brother's face in each image. The usually handsome grin leered maliciously, the eyes which had once lit up at the sight of a cheeseburger now danced with supernatural excitement as he ripped into flesh and bone. In every image, he laughed and Chris screamed in anguish. In every image, someone died. Wyatt put up the scenes with a frigid calculation which was scary enough, but even more terrifying still was the anger pouring off him in menacing waves, directed at Chris. An anger Sam didn't understand because it seemed so ._personal_. Chris countered again and again, pale and shaking but determined not to show it.

It felt like hours before silence finally rang and the floating heads disappeared to consult amongst themselves.

Chris leaned against the table by Sam, crossing his arms. Wyatt had moved into an uncannily similar pose across the room. For several long, piercing seconds, Sam couldn't remember how to move his mouth to form words. The blood had stained his vision. His eyes trailed to the empty Circle of Truth, and he could still see his brother standing in that sea of crimson. Now he knew why Chris had been so close-lipped every time Sam had asked him about this hearing. He had known he might have to relive all this- the worst, most devastating moments of his life. He'd been silently bracing himself for this for _days._ Sam opened his mouth, needing to say something, _anything_, to him, but at the sight of Chris's hands trembling minutely- though his face was still stony and expressionless as ever- the words died on his lips. Dean had tortured Chris in the worst way imaginable. He had taken away everyone Chris had ever loved.

There was nothing Sam could say to that.

So instead he said in a hoarse, shaky voice, "Now what?"

Chris's hands tightened around his forearms in a white-knuckled grip. "Now," he said quietly to Sam, not quite looking at him, "we wait."

* * *

TBC...

A/N: Hey guys, sorry we took so long with this, we just wanted it perfect because we knew it was an important chapter. Some reviewers last time have asked why this isn't in the crossover section- it's because at the time we began this, the section had only just been established and wasn't exactly thriving. Now it is, though, so we're moving it. This is just to let everyone know so they don't wonder why the story suddenly disappears from the Charmed fandom. Hope you enjoyed the chappie, and please review!


	9. You're Everything

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 9: You're Everything

_You're all I want you're all I need.  
You're everything, everything.  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

- Lifehouse, _"Everything."_

* * *

It was a full three hours before the Tribunal arrived back with their decision. Sam felt his anxiety mount as the time wore on- was it a good sign or a bad one when juries were out for a long time? He fidgeted, resisted the urge to pace, kept one eye on his watch as the minutes wore on slowly. Neither Chris nor Wyatt moved. They stood on opposite ends of the room, staring each other down, and Sam was reminded of the staring games he and Dean had used to play during the long car journeys of their childhood. Dean had usually blinked first during those games, not because he lacked the stubbornness to hold out, but because he hadn't been able to bear seeing his little brother's eyes turn bloodshot and water from the pain. His throat tightened at the memory, and then the image of Dean slitting Chris's fiancées throat flashed rose unbidden before his eyes, and he felt a wave of white hot hatred towards Wyatt for turning his big brother into the monster of Chris's memories.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked Chris tersely, knowing that if he had to stay here for much longer, he would probably not be able to stop himself from doing something stupid like antagonising Wyatt and end up getting himself, Chris, and possibly the entire world killed. He checked his watch again; it had now been one and a half hours exactly.

Chris's eyes flicked towards him, a warning in his eyes as he read the look in his eyes. "Could be awhile," he said. "It's a big decision. They've never been asked to do anything like this before."

"No, they haven't, have they, Chris?" Wyatt's voice, ice-cold and slightly mocking at the same time, rang across the room. "Why do you think that is?" Chris didn't respond, didn't even move. "You're a fool," Wyatt continued. "No one else would dare to keep trying me the way you do, no one else would get away with it. But don't forget that you'll eventually have to come back to the future. And when I get my hands on you in our own time-"

"You'll what? Kill me?" The words were derisive, but Sam could sense a wealth of emotion and history beneath them. "Please. If you'd been able to do it by now, you would have. But you can't, because part of you still-" He cut himself off abruptly, realising he was saying too much.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes? Care to finish that sentence?" He took a menacing step forward. "Or should I finish it for you?" He glanced at Sam, who was sitting uncomfortably in his chair, not sure if he should intervene. "Something you'd like Sam to know?"

"Shut up," Chris hissed the words at him. "You know he can't know that. It could change everything."

"But isn't that what _you're_ trying to do, Chris, change everything?" Wyatt taunted, and even though his tone was nonchalant, Sam thought he looked strangely..._betrayed._ Again, Chris didn't respond. "You've gone too far this time," Wyatt continued. "When you went after Dean, you made it personal. And if you succeed in bringing him back, we're done. Next time I see you, I _will_ kill you."

Sam shuddered a little at the truth in his eyes.

"It's always been personal, Wyatt," Chris said. "And if I succeed in bringing him back, you won't remember anything about it. He'll be out of hell before you turn two."

Wyatt laughed; a harsh, cruel sound that sent chills down Sam's spine. "Oh, please," he said. "Do you really think I didn't take care of that the second you stepped through that portal? You of all people should know better than to underestimate me. No matter what you change, Chris, I'll remember it. I made sure of that, just like you did."

Chris's face had gone whiter than ever. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sam never found out what, because the four Tribunal members chose that moment to reappear above them. Sam's heart dropped down to his shoes and he stood before he could stop himself. Without turning to look at him, Chris put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.

It was Adair who spoke. "This has not been an easy decision," he said. "Both sides," he glanced between Chris and Wyatt, "have put up strong arguments. The one thing we loathe above all is when a suit like this is brought before us on motives so obviously personal." He glared down at them, and Sam gulped. That didn't sound good. "Before we give you a decision we have a few things to ask of you first, Chris Perry."

"Of- of course," Chris said, his voice shaking a little in spite of himself.

"You knew you risked erasing yourself when you came here to argue this case. And yet you came here, for a man you met barely two months ago."

"The future -" Chris began, but Thrask cut him off.

"We have heard that argument," he boomed. "What we wish to know is why would you risk your existence, your entire mission, for this? What does Sam Winchester mean to you?"

_What does Sam Winchester mean to you? _The words echoed in Chris's head, and he sucked in his breath sharply, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. He had been preparing for this hearing for days. He had made notes, planned which memories to reveal; built his case up piece by piece, detail by detail. He'd prepared for every possible question...but not this. This was the one part of his past that he had kept locked away even from himself for the last three years. He tried to shudder away from it, tried to move away from the Circle of Truth, but there was no hiding from the Tribunal. The images rose in the Circle, and he was plunged back into memories he had never wanted to relive.

_He was little more than a tiny, scrunched ball of pain as he lay on the rocky floor, waiting for the demons to come again. They had been gone a few hours now, but they would come back. They always came back, with their whips and their knives that made him burn and feel sick for hours after the cuts were made. They were trying to hurt him so that he would get them the Book of Shadows, but Chris didn't know why. You couldn't give the Book of Shadows to a demon, demons couldn't touch it! Mommy was always telling him and Wyatt so._

_He just wished his mommy or daddy would come soon. Chris kept calling his daddy but he never came. Although he didn't want to think it, Chris was scared he didn't even know he was missing. His dad had left him with a whitelighter named Dillon because some important work had come up and he'd said he'd be back as soon as he could. Then the demons had come and killed Dillon and brought him here. What if he hadn't finished his work, what if he didn't know the demons had taken him? No, Chris told himself, Daddy knew where he was. It had been two days, he would have known by now. His daddy was looking for him everywhere, Chris knew it. He just had to hold on._

_Footsteps sounded outside the cave and Chris whimpered in fear. The demons were coming back. "Daddy..." he whispered in a rasping, cracking voice. He listened desperately for the sounds of orbing, but there was nothing. He began to sob bitterly._

_The footsteps came closer and closer, and then stopped abruptly. "What the-_? Chris? _What in God's name are you doing here?"_

_Chris raised his head, unable to believe his ears, but there was no mistaking the slightly lined face, the shaggy hair streaked with hints of grey, the habitually kind brown eyes which were now staring down at him with an expression of horror._

"_S-Sam," he stammered, weak with relief._

_Sam crouched down next to him, and he threw himself into his arms, sobbing bitterly. "Hey, hey buddy. It's okay. I've got you. You're safe now, you hear me? You're safe."_

* * *

_Over the years, Sam had gotten used to the sounds of orbs forming in his apartment at odd hours- it was an occupational hazard of knowing the Charmed Ones. Even so, he was visibly startled when seven year old Chris orbed into his kitchen, wrapped his arms around his middle, and promptly burst into tears. Automatically, his arms rose to hug the child back._

"_Chris? Are you okay? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your birthday?"_

_Chris just clung to him and cried harder. Sam was about to say something when his phone buzzed in his shirt pocket. He flipped it open without checking the ID. "Sam Winchester." He listened for a bit. "Hey, yeah, he's here. What the hell happened?" Another pause, and then Sam's voice rose in anger. "What do you mean he's not going to make it? Are you fu- freaking kidding me?" Another, longer pause; and some of the anger on Sam's face was replaced by resignation. "Yeah, yeah, ok. I'll bring him. Don't worry." He hung up, and then gently disentangled Chris's arms from his waist, kneeling so that they were face to face._

"_Hey, buddy," he said, grasping Chris's forearms in a comforting squeeze. "Your mom just told me your dad isn't going to be able to make it. I'm so sorry, Chris."_

"_Do you think he h-hates me?" Chris choked out._

_Sam looked shocked. "Why would you think that?"_

"_I heard you and M-Mommy fighting with him that n-night. You said he didn't even n-notice I was gone. You were screaming about how he was a l-lousy excuse for a f-father."_

_Sam winced. "I really wish you hadn't heard that," he muttered. He stared at Chris for a long moment, looking torn, his anger warring with his desire protect Chris from thinking his father hated him. "I was angry with your Daddy that night because I was so scared about what could have happened to you," he said at last. "When people are scared and angry they say things they don't mean. Like when you were fighting with your brother the other day and you told him he was a dickhead and you wished he had never been born. But you didn't really mean it, did you?" Chris sniffed and shook his head, remembering the chewing out he'd got from his mom for that one. "Your father doesn't hate you," Sam said. "He's just…really busy, he has an important job and he's one of the only ones left who can do it. He's an Elder and you know there aren't too many of those left. So sometimes his job has to come first. That's why he left you with whitelighter Dillon. He heard you calling him but he just thought you missed him. If he'd known you were in trouble he would have come and rescued you. "_

_Chris nodded, his tears starting to slow a little. But there was a look in his eyes; a mixture of fear and shame and something else, that made Sam grasp his shoulders and ask, "What is it, Chris?"_

"_No-nothing," Chris said shakily. "It's stupid. You're right. Daddy doesn't hate me." He tried to pull away but Sam held fast._

"_No way, Chris," he said. "You're not getting away that easy. What's wrong?"_

"_Its just-" Chris stopped, embarrassed. "What if it happens again?" he said in a rush. "What if I'm taken by demons and he just doesn't hear me or he thinks nothing's wrong, and no one knows where I am? What if I'm hurt, or if I die 'cause -"_

"_That is _not_ going to happen," Sam interrupted fiercely. He hugged Chris close, and the child snuggled against his chest. "I swear to you, buddy. I will never let something like that happen to you, ever again." He held Chris for a few more seconds and then pulled away. "I was going to give you this at your birthday party but I guess now's as good a time as any." He rose and walked out of the kitchen, returning a minute later with what looked like a black necklace with a stone pendant hanging from it. "Do you know what this is?"_

"_A necklace?" Chris guessed dubiously. He tried not to look disappointed, though he had quite frankly been expecting something way cooler from Sam as a birthday present._

"_It's an amulet," Sam said. "It's special, magical. It...it belonged to my brother Dean, once." He was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant and sad._

"_I didn't know you had a brother," Chris said._

"_He died a long time ago," Sam said. "I'll tell you about him someday." He shook the memories away with a visible effort and smiled down at Chris. "I gave him this amulet as a Christmas present when we were both kids. That was before I knew how special it was."_

_Chris's eyes were alight with excitement, his tears forgotten. "What does it do?"_

"_Well...it'll link us. We'll do a spell on it first, of course, but after that, whenever you wear it, if you ever need me, I'll know. Even if you don't call me. If you ever get hurt, I'll feel it, here." He put his hand over his heart. "Pretty cool, huh?"_

"_Really cool," Chris breathed. His tears forgotten, his eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and relief. He took the amulet from Sam's hands, examining it closely. It wasn't girly at all, he decided, even if it did look like a necklace. "Thank you, Sam! This is, like, the best birthday present ever!"_

* * *

_For the fourth time in as many days, Sam woke at three in the morning with a dull ache in his chest. He opened his eyes to find Chris lying beside him, crying silently. Wordlessly, he reached over and put his arms around the fourteen-year-old, pulling him close._

"_Sorry," Chris choked out. "I tried not to wake you." He sputtered out a laugh. "God, I'm pathetic."_

"_No, you're not," Sam said quietly. "Your mom died four days ago. Cut yourself some slack. And don't apologise, you know I'm always here for you." He held Chris in his arms as he shook and sobbed against him, rocking him gently like he was little child._

"_I miss her so much," Chris said softly, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Everything's falling apart. Wyatt's become so cold- he won't even say a word to me. And Dad- dad said he blames me for-"_

"_He what?" Sam broke in, appalled. "When was this?"_

"_This morning. I don't- I mean, maybe he's right. Everyone always said I should have been able to heal, it's in my blood-"_

"_No," Sam broke in. "Powers don't work that way. This isn't your fault. Your father- he's grieving. People say things they don't mean when-"_

_Chris pulled away from him violently, and turned around to face him. "Why do you always do that?" he demanded. "Why do you always try to tell me he doesn't mean the crap he says? He meant it. I could tell. He really does blame me, and I wish you'd stop trying to protect him!"_

_Sam stared at Chris for a few seconds, stunned. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I guess you're not a kid anymore. It wasn't him I was trying to protect Chris, it was you. I never wanted you to feel unloved by your family. That was the only reason I kept making excuses for him. I didn't mean to-"_

"_It's okay," Chris interrupted, feeling bad for yelling at the one person who had always been there for him. Of course it would be to protect him- everything Sam had done from the day he'd given him that amulet had been done to protect him. "It's not a big deal."_

_They were silent for a while._

"_You know," Sam said, "When I was growing up my dad and I always used to fight about everything. We just…we were so different, and we never really got along. I used to think sometimes that he blamed me for my mom's death. She died in my nursery, killed by a demon that was after me. I was six months old." Chris listened attentively; Sam had told him stories of him and Dean growing up but nothing about his parents. "I think…some part of him did blame me. The way he treated me sometimes…" He shook his head, eyes distant as he recalled some of their worst fights. "But Dad always loved me, even though he was a bastard sometimes, even though he might have blamed me for Mom's death, he still loved me and I knew that. Your dad might blame you for your mom's death, he might be a terrible father, but he still loves you."_

"_Yeah, sure," Chris said, but he didn't sound very convinced at all._

_Sam stared at him; read the doubt in his eyes and looked away before Chris could see it mirrored in his own._

* * *

_The room was filled with silence, punctuated only by the sound of Victor's intermittent coughs and the clink of silverware as they ate a dinner of macaroni and cheese. The silence wasn't companionable, nor was it uncomfortable- it was just dead. Chris hated it, but didn't really know what to do about it. It hadn't always been this way- in fact, after The Event there had been no one, with the exception of Sam, who Chris had talked to more than his grandfather. Back then, broken as they all were, they'd tried to make an effort at normality- and that included requisite 'family time' where both Wyatt and Chris had to make an effort to be present at meals._

_Sometimes Sam had been there, too, and they'd managed to find some semblance of normality even in the wake of the awful tragedy of Piper's death. But then as time passed Wyatt grew more and more quiet, more and more withdrawn, he began to disappear to the Underworld for days at a time and though Victor tried to discipline him, there was little he could do to stop his slow but sure deterioration. Before they knew it he was killing demons by the thousands, and then he'd declared himself the master of the Underworld, and then when he was bored of killing demons he started killing witches, and innocents, and talking about power and ruling the world. Needless to say, there were no more shared meals, and Victor was too consumed by worry about his failing lungs and guilt over his failure to take care of Wyatt to make anymore effort at family and normality._

_Chris broke the silence with a sigh. "Grandpa?" he asked hesitantly._

"_Yeah, Chris?"_

"_I umm...I need to talk to you about something."_

_Victor set down his fork and looked Chris in the face, noting from his expression that this was serious. "What is it? Is it Wyatt? Did he try to get you to join him again-"_

"_No it's...it's not that." Chris sighed. He knew it would hurt Victor to hear this, but he had no choice. "I don't know if you've realised...but things are getting worse. It's going to be an out and out war before long. More and more innocents keep disappearing or turning up dead, and people are starting to ask questions. It'll only be a matter of time before Wyatt manages to expose magic completely, and at this point I'm not too sure even the Cleaners will be able to erase it."_

_Victor stared at Chris, startled and dismayed. "He's become that powerful?" he asked. "That...that evil?"_

"_We haven't given up on saving him yet," Chris stated hurriedly. "Henry, Mel, Patience, and the twins, and I, we're all trying. Sam too. We'll find a way if it's the last thing we do. But in the meantime, he wants me to join him. I got attacked when I was visiting the twins last week, and again at school a couple of days ago. It's just...not safe, for me to stay here anymore."_

"_I thought you said this place was protected! There's never been a demon attack here yet-" Victor stopped abruptly. "Has there?"_

_Chris winced. "Last night. A couple of his minions tried to kidnap me."_

"What?_ Were you hurt? How is that even possible, I was right here-"_

"_I'm fine, not even a scratch," Chris interrupted him. "You didn't notice because you didn't wake up. The meds you're on must be really, really strong."_

_Victor looked horrified and guilt-stricken. "Oh God, Chris...I'm so sorry. I'll ask the doctor to give me different drugs, ones that won't make me so sleepy-"_

"_No- Grandpa!" Chris interrupted forcefully, his eyes wide. "That's not what I meant at all! Thank _God_ you didn't wake up. If you'd gotten involved..." He left the statement unfinished, not wanting to rub in the fact of Victor's powerlessness, his mortality. "They were really powerful," he said. "I barely managed to vanquish them by the skin of my teeth and it's a miracle I wasn't hurt."_

"_So we put up better protections," Victor argued, "We'll make it so that they can't find this place. That's possible right? Your cousins' houses are all magically protected-"_

"_My cousins' biggest protection is each other," Chris said. "Magic is...it's unpredictable. It's always evolving, new spells, new potions...You can make really powerful wards and protective spells but if someone more powerful than you comes up with a new spell that's all it takes to make you vulnerable. My cousins have each other under the same roof, they have magical backup when they get attacked. I don't."_

"_But there has to be...something I can do," Victor said helplessly. He looked close to tears. "I'm your legal guardian. I'm responsible for you; I'm supposed to protect you-"_

"_But you can't," Chris said. "And I couldn't bear to let you try. I'm sorry Grandpa, but yesterday when we were attacked what scared me the most was what would happen if the demons tried to go after you. I don't have much family left, and I couldn't bear to lose you like that."_

_Victor stared at Chris for a long moment, torn, and then he closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. He knew Chris was right. He was a mortal, with normal, human problems, and that would always put him on the outskirts of this. "So who will you stay with, then?" he said. "You need to stay with an adult, you're still underage-"_

"_Sam," Chris said. "I'll stay with Sam. He's agreed to become my legal guardian."_

_Victor nodded, unsurprised. He knew Sam was a mortal like him, but he also knew who had given Chris the amulet that had hung around his neck every day for the past nine years, and what it meant. There was no one else on earth who would ever be able to protect Chris better._

* * *

_Chris couldn't see what he was doing. That wasn't a first, but it certainly made things annoying. _Ofcourse _Wyatt's lair would be at the lowest level of the Underworld and as dark and gloomy as he could possibly make it, he thought, irritated; because just because Wyatt was the evil overlord of the world, did that mean he had to follow every cliché in the book? He squinted into the shadows in front of him and started as he saw a pair of glowing eyes not three feet in front of him. He fired a couple of bullets on reflex and smiled in grim satisfaction as a demonic scream filled the air._

Bullet shells filled with vanquishing Potion_, he thought. _Genius, Sam.

_He glanced worriedly at his watch- it shouldn't have taken this long to find a lower-level demon and figure out where the Book of Shadows was kept.__"Sam," he whispered into his walkie-talkie, "What's your status?"_

"_His status is beyond fucking screwed," came a voice from beyond him._

_Chris all but jumped out of his skin. Damnit! How had he let his guard down? He turned slowly, his worse fears confirmed at the sight of his cousin with an athame to Sam's throat. "Prue..."_

"_You wanna tell me what you're doing here?" Prue said, her voice as cold as ice. "And don't even think of lying to me, or he dies."_

"_No, Chris! You can't-" Sam began to shout, but fell abruptly silent when Prue pressed her blade tighter against his throat, drawing a thin line of blood._

"_Sam, don't do anything stupid," Chris warned him, fear in his voice. He stared at Prue. "Let him go. Please."_

"_First tell me why you were here," Prue repeated in that same icy tone. "And I might consider it."_

_He couldn't lie. She was an empath, and even more powerful than Phoebe, so not even empath-blocking potion worked on her. So he tried to stall. "What, I can't just come by and visit my family?"_

_Prue was unmoved. "Quit screwing around and tell me what you're doing here. I know the way the Resistance works and for both its leaders to be out on a mission together, it has to be something good. So you'd better start talking if you want your little bitch-boy here to live-"_

"_Don't you dare talk about me like that, young lady," Sam interrupted angrily, "I was in the house when your mom went into labour and I'm the one who drove her to the hospital. I've changed your diapers and babysat for you and I drove you to your homecoming dance in sixth grade when your parents got caught in a demon attack. You were raised to be one of the most powerful good witches in the world and now you're siding with Wyatt? Your mother must be rolling in her grave-"_

"_Shut up!" Prue screamed, her knife dangerously closed to Sam's Adam apple. _"Shut the fuck up_ or I swear to God I'll kill you!"_

"_Prue!" Chris yelled in alarm. "Don't!"_

_Sam stood there, frozen, his eyes suddenly fearful as he realised she was in dead earnest. If he had been able to spare a moment to think about it, he would have realised the entire situation was actually a little ludicrous. Prue was sixteen and she barely reached Sam's shoulder- she'd had to reach up to get the knife to his throat. If it had been a run-of-the-mill monster holding him in this position, he would have tried to twist away and shake her off long ago. But Prue wasn't a run-of-the-mill supernatural threat, and nor was she a mere sixteen-year-old girl. She was a powerful witch who had been trained by the Charmed Ones and, ironically, Sam himself.__Despite all his experience hunting the supernatural, Sam was still only a mortal. Much as he hated it, he knew the wisest thing to do right now was to keep as still as possible and trust Chris to get him out of this._

"_Tick-tock, tick-tock," Prue said. "I'm not going to wait forever. Make your move, Chrissie."_

"_What the hell happened to you, Prue?" Chris asked, his voice shaking. "How did he turn you into this? Something went wrong with him, seriously wrong, but you...you're doing this by choice."_

"_It's because he makes sense," Prue said, and her tone and expression had a bluntness that unnerved Chris. It was the bluntness of old men, who have seen everything and know everything and have nothing left to lose. The reality of what she was doing – holding a knife on someone who might as well have been an uncle – settled in the lines of her face, aging her by decades, and coupled with the cold certainty, Chris barely recognized her. As Chris wavered, something inside him slowly breaking apart as he watched his cousin draw another drop of blood from Sam's throat, she continued, "The way we grew up, the people we've lost, the never-ending war between good and evil, don't you just want it to end? He's making it so that everyone's on the same side. Demons, witches, warlocks, magical creatures, humans... If you join us, if you stop fighting, there won't be any more war. _You're_ the one causing all the bloodshed. We could just live out our lives and not lose anymore family and be normal again if you just _stopped."_ In that moment she sounded like a scared, scarred teenager._

"Normal?" _Chris asked. "Have you been asleep the past few years? After what he's done to the world, you really think we can _ever_ go back to normal? The only chance we have is to find a way of saving him! Why can't you see that!"_

_Prue just shook her head at him in disgust. "Enough of this crap. We'll never agree on this anyway, so what's the point talking about it? Will you tell me what you're doing here, or not?" The coldness was back again, and Chris thought she couldn't have looked more evil if she'd been possessed by a demon. Pain stabbed at his heart. This was his cousin, his Aunt Phoebe's daughter, with whom he'd spent endless afternoons playing witch-tag and orb-and-seek. They'd practically grown up together, they'd fought side by side and saved each other's lives too many times count. She was only a year younger than he was._

_He shook the memories away forcefully, looked her straight in the eye and asked her the only question that really mattered. "Would you really kill him?"_

"_Yes," she said without wavering. Her ice-cold eyes didn't even flicker._

"_Then I'm sorry," he whispered, and before she had a chance to even wonder why, to react to his words, he raised his gun, took aim, and emptied his two remaining bullets into her head. She hit the floor with a sickening thump, her face frozen in an expression of shock. She hadn't even told him to put the gun down. It hadn't occurred to her that he'd break the one unspoken rule they all abided by, even Wyatt. You could kill everyone, destroy everything, but you didn't touch family. You didn't touch blood. And Chris, not Wyatt, had been the one to break that rule. He'd killed_ _his cousin, and he already knew he'd opened the door to a bloodbath that would take everyone he had ever loved away from him._

_He felt bile rise in his throat and before he knew it he was leaning forward and vomiting._

"_Oh God," Sam said as he leapt forward to steady him. He was babbling, beyond horrified. "Why did you do that, Chris? How are you going to live with- with-?" He couldn't even say it. "You should have just let me die, _God_, she was she was your cousin, she was practically your sister -"_

"_And you're practically my father," Chris stated, silencing Sam._

_Sam stared at him, his eyes brimming. "Chris..."_

"_Sam...I couldn't," Chris choked out, his eyes still glued on his cousin's body. He was shuddering violently from head to foot. "I couldn't let you die."_

* * *

_The words that kept running through Chris's head as Dean pressed the knife tighter against his throat were déjà vu, déjà vu, déjà vu. How many times would they be in this situation? He couldn't orb, Dean's demons had locked the place down before they surrounded it so no one could leave by magical means. No one could enter, either, but with Dean already inside the Resistance headquarters, that didn't really mater. Dean was powerful enough to kill them all. _If _he managed to get out of the Devil's Trap he'd accidentally stumbled into._

_Chris looked at Sam, who was frozen five feet in front of him, gun in hand, staring expressionlessly at the demon that had once been his brother. Despite all the people- all the family- that Dean had taken away from him, he felt his heart break a little for the older man. No brother should ever have to be in this position._

_He should know._

"_You want to let me out of this?" Dean asked._

_Sam stepped forward, his face still eerily blank, and for a second Chris had the irrational thought that the older man was actually considering doing it. But then his guardian stopped, his face lost its blankness and he looked directly at Dean._

"_No," he said, his voice trembling, the gun shaking in his hands. "N-No." There were tears in his eyes._

"_What do you mean no-?" Chris didn't know if it was his imagination, but Dean actually sounded surprised before he was cut short by the sound of the Colt being fired. Chris heard the bullet whizz past his temple and hit Dean's skull; felt the warm spray of blood on the back of his head and neck. Dean's hands went slack, the knife falling to the floor. He fell to the ground with a sickening thud._

"_Oh God," Chris said shakily, starting forward. "Sam-"_

_But he stopped short, uncomprehending, as Sam raised the gun again. His eyes were shattered._

"_I'm sorry, Chris," he said, placing the still smoking muzzle under his chin with trembling hands._

_Chris dove forward, shouting in panic, "No! SAM!"; but Sam had already pulled the trigger, and Chris was screaming, screaming as if his world had ended as splatters of Sam's blood hit his face._

* * *

_It was dawn, and it was quiet enough to hear birds twittering as the sun began come up. In a world where nearly everything had been destroyed, where buildings burnt down every alternate day and roads crumbled beneath people's feet as they walked, cemeteries were the only places that had remained untouched by the war and destruction. It was the one place where even Wyatt didn't send his probes, and therefore the only place where it was safe for Chris to go without backup._

_But there was no peace for Chris here, not today. He stared unseeingly down at the gravestone, his eyes blurred with tears. He didn't need to read it to know what it said. Sam Winchester, 1983-2024. Nothing else. The grave didn't even contain a body- just Sam's ashes. Even though the last remaining Winchester had been cremated according to hunter tradition, Chris had wanted a grave; he'd wanted some place where he could come and talk to him if he ever needed to._

"_We lost twenty people today," he said. "Because of an order _I_ gave. And I know- I _know_ it isn't the first time something like that happened- we've given orders before and we've lost a hell of a lot more than twenty- that's what you would tell me, right? But you know what Sam? This is the first time I've ever given an order without you." He swiped angrily at the tears spilling down his cheeks. "I'm running the Resistance by myself. I'm not even twenty-one and I'm responsible for twenty thousand people. What if I screw up and get everyone killed? How am I supposed to live with that?"_

_He began to cry in earnest, his shoulders shaking with soul-eating grief. He had never felt so betrayed by anyone in his entire life. Leo had abandoned him again and again, but Chris had gotten used to it eventually and stopped expecting him to change. Sam was different. Sam had always been there for him when Leo wasn't. He'd given him the amulet that now hung around his neck like a dead weight, bereft of its power. Of all the people Chris could ever have expected to abandon him even in his wildest dreams..._

_Suddenly, he was beyond furious. "I hate you!" he shouted. "How could you do this to me? You were all I had and you- how could you-!" He let out an angry sound and ripped the amulet from his throat hard enough to leave rope burns on his neck and hurled it at the gravestone with a telekinetic burst of fury. It shattered into dust, leaving a small dent in the stone right under Sam's name._

_Chris sank to the ground, his entire body heaving with sobs he couldn't contain. "I hate you," he chanted under his breath. "I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you-"_

_It felt like a minor eternity before the weeping subsided. He scrubbed the tears away from his face and rose, feeling hollow inside. He knew he would never come here again. Sam was gone, and coming here and talking to a block of stone with his name on it wouldn't bring him back._

_He began to walk away, but then stopped and turned, looking back at the gravestone one last time. "I'm going to save you," he said. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to stop all this from happening."_

_Two years later, he came back to the past._

* * *

TBC...

Hey people, hope you all enjoyed it. Please drop a review. And Happy New Year! :D


	10. The Peace You Could Never Find

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

* * *

Chapter 10: The Peace You Could Never Find

_For the first time you can open your eyes  
And see the world without your sorrow  
Where no one knows the pain you left behind  
And all the peace you could never find  
Is waiting there to hold and keep you  
Welcome to the first day of your life  
Just open up your eyes_

Chris Daughtry, _Open Up Your Eyes_

_

* * *

_

In the silence that followed, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if the whole room could hear his pounding heartbeat. He swallowed hard, rubbed damp and clammy palms together absently. For the first time since Chris had agreed to help save Dean, he wasn't thinking about his older brother. After what he had just seen- what he'd just heard—

_You're practically my father._

Chris's words wouldn't leave him alone. He had known for some time now that he meant a lot to Chris in the future, but he'd somehow assumed that meant they were good friends. He had never imagined something like this; would have thought Chris was lying if he had told him he'd been his mentor, his guardian. Because the man he knew now- the one who was guarded, and hard as nails, and snarky, and secretive- in_ no way_ resembled the boy he'd seen grow up in the images of the Circle.

But Sam had seen it happen with his own eyes- as he grew older and his face got more lined and his hair more gray, he'd seen himself loving Chris like a son; taking responsibility for him. He'd seen himself become Chris's father, his guardian, his whole world. And then-

His thoughts stuttered to a halt. He couldn't go there.

But there was still some vindictive voice in the back of his mind, bitter from the days after Dean's death that told him it was his fault – that told him that everything was his fault – which told him exactly what the rest of his mind couldn't bear:

He had killed Dean – his own brother.

And then he had killed himself.

The deals with demons, with reapers – it had finally ended. In Chris's future, they had finally met their ends. For all their renown, for all their battles over good and evil, innocents and monsters, for all their narrow victories that filled the next moments with that delirious happiness that made even Dean's lame jokes hilarious, the Winchesters were gone.

Unless Chris succeeded.

Sam swallowed hard again and forced himself to look over at the young man who had lost almost everyone he'd ever loved to Dean – and then _everyone_, finally, to Sam himself. Even as he made himself look, Sam didn't know how he could ever face Chris again knowing all this.

Chris looked visibly ill and didn't even glance in Sam's direction. His face was chalky white, and the only thing keeping him on his feet appeared to be the table. Finally, after all the stresses of the trial, a thin crack had begun to splinter in it under Chris's grip.

Sam had no idea from his shut down expression what he could be thinking about – except maybe vomiting. Was he angry? Hurt? Did he regret bringing Sam here and reopening all these ragged wounds for himself?

Blood started to flutter outwards from Chris's palms, trickling into the cracks in the table and sliding along those.

Sam wanted to reach out and stop him, take his hands and tell him – tell him _something_. That it was alright – that he was sorry. But it wasn't alright, and Sam hadn't done anything yet; his apology wouldn't mean anything.

He wasn't the Sam Chris needed right now.

The words stuck in his throat, and Sam clasped his own hands together, stopping himself from reaching out to Chris. It took several more moments to realize that, over his inner chaos, the Tribunal had been talking quietly amongst themselves.

And then they turned back to the plaintif.

"We have reached our decision," said Adair.

Sam and Chris's heads shot up. Wyatt, who had watched the memories of Sam and Chris with a closed, unreadable expression, glanced up calmly. A quiet, dangerous aura loomed in the air around him. Whatever the verdict would be, he would leave this trial planning Chris's death, Sam knew. And again, Sam wondered what exactly their relationship was.

"Dean," continued Adair, "will be resurrected." At the saving words, Sam was hit with a wave of joy and relief so strong that his knees nearly buckled. He barely registered the rest of Adair's speech over his own shaky breathing. "However, we know how the Winchesters react to the deaths of family. If Dean is to die again before this oncoming war, which is more than likely with your history, he is to stay gone. There will be no more deals, and no repeat of what you have done here today, with selfishness disguised as divine balance."

The floating heads turned as one to the center of the room, where pillars of light shot once more from the Circle of Truth. But no projections of memory arose from the light. The light simply grew brighter and brighter, a blinding blue white that made Sam shield his eyes –

And Dean staggered forward, wearing the same clothes Sam had buried him in and clutching his head as if suffering one of his particularly bad hangovers. He stumbled, fell to his knees, and suddenly Sam was beside him, supporting him, his mind still in such shock that he couldn't recall standing from his chair and rushing forward.

Wyatt said something to Chris, but it was quiet, and Sam couldn't hear over the rushing in his ears, couldn't see except for the sight of his brother's face.

"S-Sammy?" croaked Dean, squinting around in confusion. "What…?"

Words failed Sam. He gripped his brother in a bone-crushing hug, tears slipping down his cheeks, and still too stunned and confused to move, Dean let him.

Sam couldn't remember the Tribunal or Wyatt leaving, but they must have, because the next thing he knew, Chris was at his side, saying something about orbing home; and the hoarse words echoed in the emptiness.

He didn't release Dean until the cold glass of the trial room floor became cool stone floor of P3 under his knees.

Chris lurched into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and that more than anything snapped Sam back to his senses.

"Dean!" Sam said, clambering back to his feet. He helped a dazedly protesting Dean up onto the couch and hovered anxiously. "Here – what am I thinking? – let me get you some water. Hold on –"

"I'm going to need something a whole hell of a lot stronger than water, Sammy," said Dean, voice scratchy. He shot a cursory glance around the room, his eyes clearing slightly of the confusion and showing more of the cataloguing calculation he used on jobs. And then he snapped his attention back to Sam. The confusion had vanished entirely as he returned to his senses; it morphed into outrage. "Sam, what the hell did you do? I told you! I told you not to cut any more deals with demons! I _told_ you to let it end with me! Goddammit, Sam! What were you _thi_–"

"No, no, no!" said Sam. "Dean, no. I didn't, I swear. Here, let me get you something to drink and I'll explain everything. Just calm down and hold on a minute."

Dean opened his mouth to argue some more, but brotherly habits returned to Sam like riding a bike. He ignored him and loped out the door, leaving Dean's angry, dirty remarks to fall in an empty room.

Even through Dean's ranting, however, as Sam passed the bathroom door, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone being violently ill. Chris.

Guilt and uncertainty gnawed at Sam's heart. He slowed down just outside the door, hesitating.

Dean had just returned from the dead. Chris had just relived some of the worst moments of his life. And there was only one Sam to help them both. After a moment, Sam decided there was very little he could do for Chris at the moment, and returning from the dead was probably the greater trauma. And… Dean was his brother. He hadn't seen him in two years.

Sam finished the distance to the bar in quick strides. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, filled a regular-sized glass halfway, and put the bottle back. As he strode back toward the makeshift bedroom, he nearly plowed over Chris, coming out of the bathroom. The young man looked more like a living corpse than any of the vampires Sam had ever seen. His face was whitish green and damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, and Sam had no idea how he was still upright.

"Chris," said Sam in shock. "Oh – God – let me, um, get you something, too. Just…" He twisted around, handing Dean the glass of whiskey, and started back around Chris for the bar again, but Chris shook his head and pushed past him.

"Don't bother," he muttered. "I've put demon hunting off to prepare for the trial for two whole days. I've got a schedule to make up for."

"Chris, you're in no shape to –"

Chris orbed away.

Dean jumped to his feet but still somehow maintained a steady grip on his drink. "_What the hell was that?_"

Sam stared after Chris for several seconds, torn, before he realized Dean had even spoken at all. His mind took a moment to repeat it, and then he shook his head, trying to clear it. He had a lot to explain.

"That was Chris," he muttered. "Chris Perry. He's a whitelighter from the future."

Dean stared at him. Sam stared back. Dean blinked, realized he was still holding a half-full glass of alcohol, and quickly remedied that. When the glass was empty, he sank back onto the couch and said thickly, "Okay. I'm back from Hell, you didn't make a deal, and there's a white-thing from the future that looks like more like he just got back from a lower circle of Hell than I do. Did I miss anything?"

"About two years worth, actually," said Sam, sinking into the desk chair across from Dean.

Dean stared at him again. Sam stared back. Then Dean looked down at his empty glass as if repeating the previous process could make it full again. When it didn't work, his hopeful expression turned mournful.

Sam sighed and took the glass from him. He went back to the bar to refill it, making a mental note to pay Piper back later. She might as well just start a tab with Dean's name carved in stone on it. He wondered distantly what they were going to do about living arrangements. Two people in the backroom had been a precarious enough balance as it was. Three people?

_Hotel_, Sam thought. _Just like old times_.

"Hey, and you moved into a bar, too," said Dean, following. He looked around the club with approval and punched Sam in the shoulder. "I knew I'd eventually make a man out of you. Too bad I had to die to do it."

Sam sloshed some of the whiskey out of the glass as his hands jerked. He didn't look up. "That's not funny."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't know Funny if it bit you in the ass. Two years ain't gonna change that one."

Sam ignored that and handed Dean the glass. "A whitelighter," he said, continuing his explanation, "is like a guardian angel."

"Funny, he looked more like hell than Heaven."

"Ha ha," said Sam. "Your astonishingly rapier wit is out of practice, bro."

Dean casually flipped him off and sat down on a bar stool across from Sam. "So, Chrissie-boy is an angel. That explains his 'demon hunting' excuse for leaving. He yours?"

"Don't call him that," said Sam. Involuntarily, his mind flashed back to the memories he had seen in the trial. Somehow, demon or human, Dean apparently had an inclination to call him Chrissie-boy. When Dean only gave him a look of bewilderment, Sam shook his head. He sat down on the bartender's stool and poured himself a glass of coke. "No," he said, taking a draft. "He's the Charmed Ones' whitelighter. They're these three prophesized good witches. One of them is my whitelighter, Paige. Except neither of them are actually full-blooded whitelighters. They're both part witch."

"Good witches?"

"Good witches," said Sam. "Trust me; I was skeptical, too, but I found a reference to them in Dad's journal, and I've been working either with them or near them for the past few months. They're legit. Good witches."

Dean quirked his eyebrows, blinked a few times, and downed his whiskey. Sam set the bottle on the table, and Dean helped himself.

"This is Piper's club. She's the oldest. I've been staying in the backroom with Chris because credit card fraud strikes them as immoral for some reason."

Dean smirked, but it didn't last long. "Okay, so this is what you've been up to," he said. "What about me? You didn't do a deal?"

His expression was entirely too knowing for Sam's liking. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No deal. I was all up for it right after you…. But no demon would take me. Apparently our family has a reputation with crossroads demons. So, after that, I started researching everything. I never gave up. Except, somewhere along the way when I was hunting, I guess... I just lost it a bit. I, um… I didn't… I didn't… _make sure_ enough."

That was all he needed to say for Dean to understand. Pain flickered behind Dean's eyes, and he looked down. "Oh," he said.

Sam swallowed hard, feeling his brother's disappointment and guilt like knives in his gut, and forced himself to continue. "So Paige showed up, and she's trying to help. It's – it's good. To have people to talk to, ya know. To have people you don't have to lie to. People you can trust. It's helped a lot, I think."

Dean nodded, though his expression was still dark. "So they knew a magical way to bring me back?"

"Not them," said Sam. "Bringing you back, that was all Chris. He called a hearing with the Tribunal, which is the most powerful force of magic in the world – until Piper's son, at least – and convinced them that bringing you back was a matter of maintaining the balance of good and evil. In Chris's future, Piper's son sped up your, um, demonization process and… well… it wasn't good. In that future, you… you _were_ a demon. You killed… and tortured… and… well…." He trailed off and looked down at his coke. After a second's thought, he reached down under the bar, pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and upended into his glass. Those memories didn't bear thinking about, let alone explaining. He took a long draft and continued, "Chris convinced them that Wyatt – that's Piper's son – having you as his first lieutenant tipped the balance of good and evil too far towards evil. So, to stop you from becoming a demon in the future, they resurrected you now."

"That's… really roundabout," said Dean.

Sam gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Say all you want, but it worked when nothing I tried would."

Dean conceded that one with another eyebrow quirk and finished his third glass of whiskey. He set the glass down and eyed the bottle speculatively but didn't pick it up. "So this Chris guy. How'd he convince the most powerful force of magic in the world? He looked like he tried to duke it out with them or something." He started to smirk but then stopped, a startled look coming over his face as he considered the idea for real. "He _didn't_, did he?" he asked, clearly disgruntled at the thought. "'Cause I don't need anyone fighting my battles for me, angel or not. I mean-" he stopped, realizing how that had sounded, and then clarified, "I'm grateful that he saved me, but if this means I have some kind of magical debt to him–"

"No, no, nothing like that," said Sam. "There's this thing called the Circle of Truth. It projects memories, because I guess memories themselves can't lie. He and Wyatt just showed a ton of memories that were… relevant. Chris showed how, because of you, Wyatt could overthrow the entire world and make it into this Hell-on-Earth, and Wyatt tried to show that Chris was doing this just for personal reasons, and it wasn't a matter of good and evil."

"Personal reasons?" said Dean. "I don't even know the guy. This Wyatt guy must have had a shoddy argument. Don't know why I'd work for a dumbass like that in the… oh. I knew Chris in the future?"

Sam smirked at the confusion battling across Dean's face. "Don't think about it too hard," he said. "It'll make blood shoot out of your ears. And yeah. 'Knew' being kind of a loose term."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

Sam winced internally. Dean should know. Chris would probably act weird around him, and Dean deserved to know why. And it hadn't even happened yet, so it wasn't Dean's fault. There was no reason he'd have to feel guilty. Right? But even as Sam thought it, he knew the way his brother's mind worked. Dean hadn't even met Chris yet, but he would feel guilty for this.

Sam sighed. "You were a demon, Dean. Chris was in the resistance against you and Wyatt. He came back to the past to change everything – to stop Wyatt from ever turning evil – because… because there was nothing left for him in the future. You and Wyatt killed everyone he ever cared about. His fiancée. His grandfather. His child cousins and their fathers. You just… you didn't leave anyone for him." _Except me_, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. _But I killed you, Dean, and then I killed myself_.

Sam didn't have to wonder why those words wouldn't come. He stared down into his Jack and Coke and then drained the rest of it in a huge gulp. Dean's gaze on his face felt like a spinal tap needle: sharp, penetrating, and it made him squirm in discomfort. He wasn't lying, but Dean always knew when he was hiding something, too.

He let it drop, though, and the brothers sat in silence as they stared at their empty glasses. It was the most companionable silence Sam had known in two years. Just the sheer comfort of just sitting together like this, sharing a drink in a bar…after so long…

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling overwhelmed with sheer relief that his brother was out of hell and alive and breathing beside him. That he wasn't and never would be the demon of Chris's memories. That the nightmare of the last two years was finally over.

And then Dean said without looking up, "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I…" Dean stopped, tried again. "You know I…"

Something hot stung in the back of Sam's eyes, and he swallowed around the sudden mass lumped in his throat. "Yeah, bro," he said tightly, "Me too."

…

* * *

TBC…


	11. Finally I Can See You

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 11: Finally I Can See You

* * *

_There's a fire starting in my heart__  
Reaching a fever pitch,  
it's bringing me out the dark.  
Finally I can see you crystal clear  
Go head and sell me out  
and I'll lay your shit bare  
_  
- Adele,_ "Rolling in the Deep"_

* * *

Sam didn't know how long they sat in silence, Dean with his empty glass of whiskey and Sam nursing a second Jack and coke. When the club doors began swishing open and admitting Piper's little worker bees to get the club ready for the night, however, he decided they had things they needed to do.

"Come on," said Sam, downing the last of his drink and getting to his feet. He clapped Dean on the shoulder and set their glasses in the sink, where the barman, Rick, was beginning to set up. "The girls will be wondering how it went. You need to meet them. Let's go."

Dean grunted and got to his feet, too, surprisingly steady, all things considered. "First things first, Sammy," he said, returning Sam's clap on the shoulder. "Where is she?"

Sam paused and turned around in confusion. "Who? The sisters? There are three, Dean, not one."

"No, you 'tard. _Where is she?_ My baby, Sam, how is my baby? You haven't douched her up while I've been gone, have you? 'Cause I swear, you are never getting in her again if you did – I'll tie a rope to you and make you run out behind her all the way to Bobby's if you even got a scratch on her. Don't think I won't." He held up a finger at Sam, expression dangerously serious, and Sam didn't know whether to laugh or make a run for it.

He compromised by giving a nervous, strained chuckle and taking a few more steps, getting a fair distance between himself and his brother in case he needed a head start. His legs were longer, but that wouldn't mean much if Dean were fighting for his baby's honor. He'd seen Dean take down monsters twice his height for scraping the paint-job.

"The car's out back, man," said Sam. He pulled the keys out of his pocket, trying to ignore the sudden sense of panic at the loss of their familiar weight. He had _Dean_ back now, he didn't need little things like car keys or a necklace or that stash of bottle caps in the backseat to remember his brother's face and laugh and stupid inappropriate humor, anymore. He didn't have to cling to every article and pray – _pray_ – he could hold onto every memory of his brother, and then feel the panic because he was already starting to forget.

He tossed the keys to Dean. "We can drive to the Manor."

"Damn straight, we can drive to the Manor," Dean muttered, catching the keys and clutching them like his own lifeline of memories, though his expression still bordered on mutinous. It was as if he already knew what Sam had done to the car and was preemptively brooding. Sam swallowed hard and reconsidered running for it. Dean amended, "_I'll_ drive to the Manor."

Sam opened his mouth to argue – Dean had had _how_ many glasses of whiskey? – but another look at his brother's expression stopped him in his tracks. He sighed. "Right," he said. "Fine. I'll just… point, yell, and hang on for dear life at the turns."

"Hell yeah, you will." Dean flashed him a wolfish grin and started for the door.

Sam shook his head, followed Dean outside, and led the way to the small employee parking lot. He forced himself not to run as he awaited the explosion.

"Ah-ha!" Dean crowed, spotting his baby sitting like a queen among the modern, tasteless boxes. He had already shoved the key to unlock the door and was twisting it up when he spotted the… doucheries.

His face turned white. He froze.

Sam reminded himself of his conviction not to run.

Dean whirled around. "_SAMUEL_! You – you – you –"

"Upgraded," Sam said quickly. "I _upgraded_. Look – it's really more convenient this way –"

" – _killed_ her!" Dean finished. He gestured to the dash, where the ipod hook-up stuck out with a flashy new ipod and jerry-rigged cup-holder. He sputtered like a fish out of water. "And – and _this_! What the hell is _this_?"

He made another motion at the new seat covers and then put a hand over his face as if he were dying. The noise he made sort of sounded like it, too.

"They're more comfortable over long drives," Sam said weakly. "And they don't squeak as much as that old leather, so sneakier getaways."

"They're _beach sunsets_! Those are _chick_ seat covers, Sam! You made my beautiful woman a – a – a _whore_!" He let his hands fall to the door panel and caressed it where the window met metal. "Oh, you poor baby. Don't worry. Daddy will fix you. It'll be alright. That mean, nasty Sam will never touch you again, I promise."

"Dean –"

Dean shot him a filthy glare, jerked his car door open, and ripped the bright, beach sunset seat cover off the driver seat. He wadded it up as if it had insulted their mother and tossed it over his shoulder. He leaned in and did the same to the passenger seat.

When his face started turning purple, Sam said, "Breathe, Dean. You know we can't resurrect you again."

Dean paused. After a moment, he took a breath, and his normal coloring began to return. After a few more moments in which Sam thought innocent, inconspicuous thoughts, his expression faded from fratricidal fury into stony acceptance.

After another several seconds, he said, "Alright, just get in."

And Sam released a gush of air. He got in. When Dean cranked the car and ABBA's "Fernando" blared out of the – also upgraded – speakers, Dean swatted and jabbed at the new system until something made an electric, dying sound and the music stopped.

Dean stared straight ahead, his shoulders high and stiff. He pulled out of the parking lot.

"Left at the light," Sam sighed.

* * *

"I've died again," said Dean, when Piper, Phoebe, and Paige all showed up to open the door. "But this time I went to Heaven."

"Oh, honey," said Phoebe, ushering them in, "you'll have to do better than that."

"I dunno," said Paige brightly. "I _am_ half angel." She paused and then added, "Not that you're allowed to ask me if it hurt when I fell, because I'm warning you now, I've killed for less."

While Sam and Phoebe let out laughs, Dean looked like Christmas had come early and muttered something that sounded like, "_Hello_, Mama."

Sam stepped on his foot.

"So, I guess this means it went well?" asked Phoebe, fluttering around the boys in excitement. "Oh, I'm so happy for you, Sam!"

She gave him a hug, which he returned warmly, and then stepped back to look at Dean.

Dean opened his arms and said, "Don't I get one, too?"

Phoebe eyed him and said, "Yeah, as soon as you get those hormones under control, Mister. I've got my eye on you." She gave him a narrow look, which was ruined only slightly by the twinkling in her eyes.

While Dean put his arms down with a dramatically wounded expression, Piper stepped in and offered her hand. "You must be Dean Winchester," she said. "Sam's told us a lot about you. I'm Piper Halliwell, and these are my sisters, Phoebe Halliwell and Paige Matthews."

Dean shook her hand and said, "Aw, the angel's married? It's not nice to tease, honey."

"Not married," Paige returned with a smirk. "Different father. And it's funny how you think you have a chance."

"A chance? Darling, I have a waiting list. I just thought I'd give you the opportunity to move to the top of it."

Sam put his hand over his face and wished his brother could shut up and be responsible for just five minutes. He knew that look of feigned, intense interest Paige was treating Dean to.

"Oh, wow, _darling_," said Paige. "Did Sam mention the part where this 'angel' can move things with her mind? One word, and your fun parts disappear in a thousand shiny lights." She smiled sweetly, held out her hand, and said, "Wanna see?"

Dean hesitated, exercising reason over libido for just a moment, and Sam felt hope spring up in his heart. Maybe it wasn't too late for him, after all.

Dean let out a small cough and said, "Um, not right now, thanks."

While Paige smiled like the cat that caught the canary, Sam smirked, and Phoebe clucked her tongue.

Piper said, "Come on. Let's take this in the living room, and I'll bring us sandwiches. Are you hungry, Dean? I could make something more filling if you are."

"Oh, God, yes," said Dean as they followed her into the living room. "Thank you, Piper. I can see that _you're_ the real angel here."

"No," said Piper airily. "I'm just married to one." She stopped on her way to the kitchen, blinking, and said, "Was. Was… married to one." She stood in the doorway a moment longer, apparently lost in thought, before shaking her head and continuing on her way.

"Huh," said Dean. "This family is like opposite-Winchester. We're surrounded by demons and monsters, and you guys are surrounded by angels and beautiful people."

Phoebe gave a laugh. "It's not just angels and beautiful people," she said. "Trust me; we have plenty of demons and monsters, too."

"That's not important," said Paige. "What _is_ important is: what happened? What was the trial like? And – where's Chris?" she added as an afterthought.

They had settled on the couches in the living room, and now Sam perched at the edge of his seat, worry tightening his chest and making his hands clasp almost compulsively. "Underworld," he said. "He didn't look very good at all. I'm really worried about him."

Phoebe and Paige looked at him in confusion. "What happened?" Paige repeated.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. While he had told Dean a few of the gory details, he had promised Chris not to tell the Charmed Ones anything. 'Future consequences' and 'disastrous repercussions' and all.

He hesitated a moment longer while Dean raised his eyebrows at him, waiting, probably, for the same explanation he had gotten. _Oh, right_. Sam had forgotten to explain Chris's lying tendencies where the sisters were concerned. And the secrets and the manipulations. He'd have to take his brother aside later and warn him not to repeat the things he had been told. It was the least Dean could do, knowing what he did to Chris in the future and how much Chris had done to help them, despite everything.

At the moment, however, Dean seemed to notice Sam's discomfort and wisely kept his mouth shut.

"It went… well," said Sam. "I mean, we got Dean back, which was the important thing. But it was hard, too. Chris had to – you know, _necessarily_ – convince the Tribunal that the future is a really bad place, so it wasn't like we spent the last few hours watching cute home videos about beach vacations. But, all things considered, we got my brother out of Hell with no casualties or Faustian deals, so… I mean, I really have a lot to thank Chris for. He really pulled through for us."

"Huh," said Paige. "Well, I wouldn't have thought it, but hey. I guess that whitelighter of ours can be useful for things other than demon hunting and nagging."

"That's really great, honey," said Phoebe again, not commenting on her sister's remark and this time giving his knee a squeeze. "But why do you feel like you just watched someone die?"

Sam froze. "What?"

Phoebe's smile was sympathetic, concerned, and way too knowing for his liking. _Empathy_, his mind suddenly whispered. _Phoebe's new power is Empathy_.

_Shit. How does Chris **deal** with this all the time? And how does he get away with it all?_

Sam swallowed hard and looked away, hoping her power wasn't quite so strong without eye contact. "Chris's future is bad, Phoebe," he eventually murmured. "Leo told you himself: you can't lie to the Tribunal. And Chris couldn't. So when he tells you the future sucks and this is the only chance you're going to get to fix it, you really should listen to him. He's _not_ kidding. He's just trying to help us all."

Phoebe continued giving him that penetrating look; he could practically feel it stabbing into him, though he wouldn't look up to meet it.

"He's in the Underworld, you said?" she asked quietly, though whether she was simply empathing Sam's concern or finally felt some of her own, Sam couldn't say.

He nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't stop him. You know how he gets when he's behind schedule."

While Phoebe frowned in concern, Paige waved a hand breezily. "Aw, he'll be fine," she said. "He knows what he's doing. He practically lives down there, anyway. But you know, I wish there was more I could do to help, Sam. I'm your whitelighter, and all I've done is let you borrow those books on magic and convinced Piper to let you share that room in the back at P3. Do you know what your next move is, now? Is there anything I can do to, you know, guide and advise? I'm kinda feeling like Chris just stole my only charge, when he's already got three of his own to bully around!"

"What is this?" asked Dean with a grin. "Some kind of guardian angel competition to see who can take the most charges? Do you get a prize if you collect them all?"

"No," said Paige, with an impatient flounce of her arms. "It's just that I know my temp jobs are important and all, but they're _temporary_, so I can never really cut a place of my own in them. So I was hoping maybe being a whitelighter might be a little more permanent as well as meaningful. And I love you to death, Sam, but you just haven't really needed me much, you know?"

She gave him a forced smile that fell kinda flat. He stared at her dumbly. He'd been so wrapped up in Chris and Dean and the Tribunal, he hadn't even noticed that Paige was feeling...neglected. He felt like kicking himself.

"No, Paige," he said seriously, "you've been _amazing_. I mean it. You found me on the hunt when I barely knew what I was living for anymore, and you picked me up and just set me down right in the middle of your own family, and trusted me, and supported me, and Chris may have been the one beside me at the trial, but I couldn't have gotten this far without _you_, Paige. _Thank you_."

Paige's face broke into a smile and she sat back, obviously touched and trying not to show it. "Wow," she said. "You really know how to show a girl some appreciation, huh?" She gave a small laugh.

Sam flashed his own smile while Dean tried not to gag in the background. "You know," Sam said, as a new thought struck him. "There may be something else you could help us with, actually."

Paige leaned forward, eyes serious again. "Yeah, sure. Anything."

"Well, since the three of us can't really live in the back room all together, Dean and I should really find another place. Probably a hotel until we figure out our next move. But, since our normal means generally involve various types of credit card… misunderstandings… think you might be able to finagle a bit of the paying kind of work for us? Maybe at the temp agency or something you've seen around?"

Paige squinted at them as she considered it. "You boys don't have much in the ways of resumes, I'm guessing?"

"We can be experts at anything you want and have a phone number reference to back it all up," said Dean immediately, and Sam grinned as Bobby's telephone central station crossed his mind.

"I meant legitimately," sighed Paige. "I don't want to get fired if they find out I recommended con artists or something. And I think you're technically _dead_, Dean. Like, twice now."

Dean winced with a tight smile, nodded, and studied the floral pattern on the arm of their sofa.

"Actually, I could use some help at the club," said Piper, sweeping back into the room with two full, steaming plates of chicken dinners and glasses of iced tea on a serving tray. She set it down on the coffee table in front of the boys, chastised, "Don't get anything on the furniture," and continued, "Yeah, Rick and Harvey are both leaving in a couple of days. Rick's moving to Seattle with his new wife, and Harvey just finished his degree and got a job at some computer place. So I'm down a barman and a bouncer." She leaned back against Phoebe's chair, crossed her arms, and eyed the Winchesters. "You boys battle monsters every other day without even using magic. Think you can handle tossing a few drunks out every now and then? Except this time with good background music, food, and girls in risqué clothing?"

Dean looked at Paige like she had just granted all his earthly desires. "I think we can manage it," he drawled. He was practically drooling.

Sam sighed at his brother but gave Piper a grateful smile. "Thank you, Piper. That sounds great, really. We can even go over tonight and get Rick and Harvey to show us the ropes, so you don't have to take time out over it."

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Piper. "Your brother just got out of Hell. Take a night off, please. Rick and Harvey will still be around a few more days, and I don't mind showing you, myself, if I need to. I'm just happy to help."

The Winchesters nodded their appreciation again, and for a few seconds, silence fell.

Dean broke it the moment he took his first bite of the chicken. "Oh, my _God_." He set it back down and looked up at Piper with starry eyes. "Will you marry me?"

* * *

Leo sighed as his old mentor gave him yet another lecture on how he needed to wean himself away from his family, going on about how his responsibilities lay with the rest of the Elders and the greater good. Gideon meant well, he knew he did, and so did the other Elders. But sometimes he wished they would all just shut up and leave him alone. None of them had ever been in the position he was right now. No other whitelighter had ever been allowed to marry, to father a child, and then been promoted to Elder and asked to give it all up in the blink of an eye.

Not that he didn't believe in the greater good. He fought for it every day. He was called upon to make decisions about which witches should be assigned to which whitelighers- that was the greater part of an Elder's job, aside from keeping an eye on things downstairs. It didn't sound like much, but assigning a charge to a whitelighter required a great deal of careful study and observation. It required judging the personalities of both parties, being able to decide which kind of whitelighter would be a good spiritual guide for each particular witch. Those decisions were important, shaping lives and destinies and the future in subtle ways that not even the Elders themselves ever fully understood.

That was why he had doubted Chris's abilities so much in the beginning. He hadn't been assigned officially, the Elders had simply followed the rules, which were, surprisingly, very specific when it came to time travelling whitelighers. Apparently this wasn't the first time someone had travelled back in time to save the world, and there was a protocol to be followed in such cases. So the Elders allowed Chris wide berth and asked him few questions about the future. He was a whitelighter, after all, one of the purest souls on earth- so he couldn't _not_ be trustworthy, could he? In spite of that, Leo had always thought there was something off with him. His lies, the whole Valhalla episode had made him deeply suspicious, and then discovering he wasn't a full whitelighter had clinched it.

In terms of temperament, he was a terrible fit for Piper, Phoebe and Paige. Anyone could see that. The first thing Leo had learned as a whitelighter to the Charmed Ones was that if you talked to them with patience and affection, they would move mountains; but if you tried to boss them around their backs went up immediately, and they got belligerent and stubborn made stupid mistakes. Leo didn't get much time to spare to keep watch over them with all his other duties, but even from the few glances he managed to steal, he could tell they were barely getting anything done with Chris as their whitelighter, each pursuing their own personal lives and living in separate houses. They had to be dragged kicking and screaming on demon hunts by Chris. He'd never seen them so reluctant to perform their magical duties before, and he couldn't help but blame Chris for not guiding them any better.

And now this latest nonsense with the Sam's trial, he just _knew_ the boy was up to something-

"Leo, are you even listening to me?" Gideon's sharp voice cut into his musings.

"I, uh..." Leo stammered guiltily, but was spared from coming up with a good excuse when he heard a disembodied voice echoing from somewhere in his own head.

_"The Tribunal summons you to the Circle of Truth."_

Even though in his years as a whitelighter Leo had gotten used to hearing voices in his head, what with the jingles and summons from the his charges, he was unnerved. This voice was one he'd never heard before, echoing with a power more ancient than he could conceive. He looked at Gideon, seeing his own startled expression mirrored in his mentor's face.

"Did you hear-?"

"Yes," Gideon said. "It must be something serious. Come, we must go at once."

Leo glanced around, and saw that the other Elders were already starting to orb out. The whitelighters were staring around in confusion at the sudden mass exodus of Elders. With a feeling of deep misgiving, he orbed into the harsh black light of the trial room. The floating heads of the four Tribunal members were already present, staring down at them so grimly that it only deepened Leo's sense of foreboding.

There was a brief silence and then Odin stepped forward. "Blessed be," he said on behalf of all the Elders gathered there.

"Blessed be," returned Adair and Aramis. Thrask and Crill merely sneered.

"We have summoned you here today because we have received information we think it necessary for the Elders to know," Aramis said. "As you know, the time traveller Chris Perry asked for a trial today to resurrect the brother of Paige Matthews' new charge. We eventually found in his favour-"

A shocked exclamation escaped Leo's mouth at this, and he could hear the other Elders murmuring as well. He couldn't believe Chris had been successful. He had been completely sure the Tribunal would see through whatever it was he was trying to pull. Because resurrecting the dead? It was all but impossible. The Tribunal had pretty much made an exception to the one rule the entire magical world lived by. He doubted they would have agreed to resurrect Prue if the Charmed Ones had known about them at the time and asked for a trial.

"...learned that the balance of good and evil is greatly imperilled in the future," Aramis was saying. "We cannot tell you much, but we believe it is necessary for the Elders to know this. In the future, Wyatt Halliwell, the Twice Blessed, has become the new Source and is running the magical and the mortal world as an evil overlord."

Leo's mind went blank as he processed the words. Then the denial set in. "That's not possible!"He burst out. "Wyatt wouldn't...he would never..."

"I assure you he has," Crill said coldly.

"Chris was lying," Leo blurted out desperately.

"Do you really think a mere whitelighter would be capable of deceiving us?" Aramis asked sharply. "Or do you not know why _that_ is called The Circle of Truth?" He nodded pointedly towards the centre of the room.

Leo followed his gaze. There was a dull roaring in his ears. He stared at the Circle, tried to imagine the scenes of destruction Chris had painted there. He couldn't. He couldn't imagine his beloved golden-haired baby growing into what the Tribunal was implying. But they couldn't be lying. Not the Tribunal. He felt his heart break. The Elders murmured in fear around him.

Chris's voice echoed in his head, mocking him in its earnestness._ "I came back to save Wyatt."_ Lies. Half-truths.

Leo felt a sudden wave of fury over-take him. How dare Chris lie to them, and about something as important as this? This was his _son._ He had the _right_ to know what was at stake, future consequences be damned.

The Elders had been talking agitatedly for the last two minutes. Leo had been too caught up in his emotions to really listen to what they were saying, but when Odin talked about the possibility of "cleaning" Wyatt for the good of the future, all other thoughts flew out of the window.

"You can't erase Wyatt!" he shouted before he could stop himself.

A sudden silence fell. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gideon shooting him a warning look.

"And you cannot dictate terms to us," Crill said, glaring down at him. "Be mindful of where you are, Leo Wyatt, and to whom you speak."

"I apologize," Leo said, backtracking quickly. "I didn't mean any disrespect. I can't pretend that I'm capable of being impartial about this, but my own feelings aside, the fact is that the Charmed Ones would never allow you to erase Wyatt. You saw that yourself only a few months ago. Piper would never forget her son, and none of them would stop at anything to get him back. They would expose magic, forcing you to-"

"No one _forces_ us into anything," Aramis interrupted, glaring down at him. "If the Charmed Ones create too many problems about this, we would simply have to erase them as well."

Leo stared at the holographic image above him, not sure that he'd heard right. "You can't," he said faintly. "That's..."

"They're the _Charmed Ones_," Odin added. He sounded nearly as shaken as Leo by Aramis' pronouncement. "The balance between good and evil-"

"-would be upset," Adiar acknowledged. "But not as much as it would be if we let Wyatt Halliwell ascend to power unchecked. We have seen that future, and we _cannot_ allow it to come to pass."

"Please," Leo whispered. _"Don't do this."_

"We have decided not do _anything_ at present," said Adair. "We will wait and see if Chris Perry succeeds in his mission. He has already changed things in ways we cannot know by raising Dean Winchester from the dead. If he manages to save Wyatt Halliwell from turning, all will be well and we will be spared the necessity of intervening. But if he doesn't, we will do whatever is necessary to preserve the future."

"So all this- the entire future- hangs on _Chris?"_ Leo asked incredulously. "He's a boy, an incompetent, lying little boy who's not even a full whitelighter-"

"-which is why you, Leo Wyatt, will rejoin the Charmed Ones on a permanent basis," Crill's voice boomed out. "Inform them what is at stake and make them dedicate themselves to aiding Chris in his efforts. With the assistance of an Elder, the mission will have a far better chance of success. If Perry fails, however, we will have no choice but to erase Wyatt Halliwell from existence. Tell the Charmed Ones that if they fight us, we'll erase them, as well."

As one, the Tribunal and Elders levelled their gazes upon him, gravity, urgency, and just the faintest threads of fear in their eyes. Leo couldn't speak. He swallowed dryly, feeling as if Atlas had suddenly hurled the world at him without a word of warning. Holding it up wasn't even an option – at this point, he was just trying to not be crushed by the weight and surprise alike.

A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that this wasn't fair – if Chris had just been honest, he could have prepared – he would have had time to brace himself. _This was all Chris's fault_.

Without a word, he nodded in understanding and orbed out.

His wife and son's lives hung in Chris's backstabbing hands.

If that was the score, then Leo had some settling to do.

* * *

TBC...


	12. The Face of Affliction

__**A/N: Hello, again! Quick note: A reviewer pointed out last chapter that Dean had been killed (by Sam) before Chris went to the past, and yet, in a flashback, we show Dean alive when he kills Bianca. We botched that detail up a bit. Dean was killed by Sam, but he was brought back again by Wyatt. We've edited the flashback to show Chris being more surprised to see Dean alive again - check out Chapter 2 if you're interested. Thank you _Always an Angel_ for pointing that out! Without further ado, the chapter:**

* * *

Title: Lonely Light of Morning

Chapter 12: The Face of Affliction

* * *

_I've seen the face of affliction, of my reality;_  
_I'm being tortured by the future of things_  
_that are yet to be;_  
_I'm being haunted by a vision,_  
_It's like the moment never comes,_  
_I feel the burden of confusion; always searching, on the run_

_-Full Blown Rose, "Somebody Help Me"_

* * *

Although Chris had wanted nothing more than to lose himself in demon hunting for the next few hours, he knew he was off his game. Exhausted and sleep-deprived, he realized after an hour and three near death experiences that if he stayed down here any longer, he would be killed. The thought was a lot more appealing than it should have been, and it was only his constant awareness of his unfulfilled mission that made him find the willpower to orb up to Golden Gate Bridge.

He must have been more exhausted than he had realized, because as soon as his feet touched the metal, he felt his knees buckle. Managing to grab onto a beam for support, he slid to the ground, until he was sitting with his legs splayed out in front of him. Unnerved by his body's sudden betrayal, he took stock of himself, and was dismayed by the results. He was still feeling nauseous even though his stomach was completely empty, and his hands, when he tried to hold them steady, trembled. Worst of all, his legs felt so watery that he honestly wasn't sure if he could get up again without holding onto something.

Exhausted, he clenched his eyes shut and let the silent, cloudy day wash over him. He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, images were flashing beneath his closed eyelids- _Dean, Sam, gunshot, blood, nononono-_ his eyes flew open and he was leaning forward again, dry heaving helplessly as fresh waves of nausea overwhelmed him.

After a couple of minutes, he slumped back, even more tired than before. When he raised a hand to wipe his mouth, he noticed the shaking had gotten worse. He felt a sudden burst of fear. He had always known that everything he had been suppressing over the last few years would catch up with him eventually- how could it not?- but now was _seriously_ the worst time for it to happen. He was on a deadline, and if he couldn't pull himself together fast, the entire future was at stake.

_But hey, no pressure_, he thought with bitter sarcasm.

A gust of cold wind hit him, and he rubbed his arms. He didn't know why he wasn't feeling happier. Today was a victory. He had resurrected Dean; saved Sam's life. It was what he'd wanted for so long, but so little had gone according to plan. Seeing Wyatt, being forced to relive those memories, and Sam's death- he shuddered again.

And then there was what Wyatt had said, which had sent waves of dizzying fear crashing through him as soon as he'd heard it. _No matter what you change, Chris, I'll remember it. I made sure of that, just like you did._

Chris had cast a spell to let him keep track of changes to the timeline, so that he would know for sure when his mission was accomplished. If he ever went back to his time, he would have two sets of memories which would let him know how much he had managed to change. If Wyatt had done the same, then he would know what the original timeline was supposed to be like the second he got back to the future.

And if he chose to go after Dean again, Chris might end up losing Sam anyway. Or worse.

If only Chris could see the future himself- one glimpse to know that Sam was still alive, it would make all of this worth it. But of course, that wasn't an option. After what had happened the last time he had tried-

_Chris! Get your ass down here now!_

He groaned out loud and resisted the urge to thump his head backwards on the metal surface behind him. Damn it, couldn't he get a second's peace? What could Paige possibly want from him now?

_CHRIS! _Piper's voice had joined Paige's, and she sounded beyond pissed. _You have some serious explaining to do, mister!_

What the hell did that mean? He thought back, trying to figure out what he was supposed to have done now, and came up blank. He had just resurrected Dean; couldn't they give him a break before ripping him a new one? He wasn't even sure he was up to orbing right now, let alone a confrontation.

As Phoebe's voice joined her sisters', he realized he had no choice. Praying that his frayed nerves would hold out, he orbed.

* * *

"Call Chris down here, now," said Leo, orbing into the manor's living room in a barely controlled flurry of blue-white.

Paige, sitting in the armchair reading a magazine, looked up in surprise.

"Leo!" she said brightly, beginning to stand. "Did you hear how the trial went? Chris and Sam won! We just met Dean – Phoebe's showing them the Book right now–, but I have to say, he's cuter than I thought he'd–"

"Leo?" said Piper, peering through the doorway from the kitchen, drying her hands off on a dish towel. She paused, frowning, as she recognized something on his face that Paige had missed. She set the towel on the counter and walked into the living room slowly. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Get Phoebe," said Leo. "I need for you to call Chris down here right now. He's been lying to us. The Tribunal just called the Elders to tell us – to tell us what Chris really showed them. Wyatt – _he's been lying about Wyatt_."

His fists, down at his sides, clenched and unclenched almost convulsively. There was a strange light in his eyes Piper had never seen before – something angry and dangerous and very, very frightened. He was speaking to them with a fragile calm, and Piper wasn't sure what would happen when it broke.

Piper's thoughts raced to Wyatt, and she crossed the room to kneel down beside him in his play pen. Stroking his hair, she yelled towards the stairs, "Phoebe! You guys, come down here; Leo needs to talk to us!"

She picked Wyatt up and held him on her hip as Paige began yelling for Chris, and after a moment of nothing happening, she joined in.

Phoebe, Sam, and Dean came trotting down the stairs, looking concerned.

When Phoebe finally added her voice to the call, without a word of explanation from her sisters or Leo, the familiar orblights began to descend.

Chris' form had barely materialized before Leo stalked forward, face contorted with rage, and punched him in the face.

"You lying son of a bitch!" he roared as Chris staggered from the blow, knocking against the coffee table and sending it skidding. With a wordless snarl, he leapt forward, grabbed Chris' shoulders to keep him from toppling, and drew back his fist to punch him again.

Finally, Piper found her voice amidst the shock. "Leo!" she screamed. She set Wyatt back down in his playpen and flicked her fingers toward the fight, aiming at Leo's flying fist.

It froze in the apex of the hook, and Leo snarled wordlessly again. "Piper, you don't understand!" he said. "This bastard has been lying to us from day one, and now all of your lives are in danger! I'm not going to let that happen! They can't do that because of this worthless fucking coward!"

"Do what, Leo?" asked Piper. Her heart was suddenly hammering against her ribcage, and her lips felt numb with fear, but she kept her voice calm and controlled. She had never seen her ex-husband like this; she had never thought the pacifist whitelighter even had it in him. So, whatever it was that could scare him to this point... "Leo?"

Chris staggered out of Leo's grip, and Piper saw that Leo's punch had been just as brutal as it had looked. Blood flowed freely from Chris' nose, and already, dark splotches grew around it in what would doubtlessly become one big, vicious-looking bruise. He stumbled the rest of the way to the floor and sat, apparently bewildered and not just a little angry about being attacked unprovoked.

"The Tribunal," Leo growled, "called the Elders right after Chris' trial to discuss what to do about what they'd seen."

Maybe Piper imagined it, but she thought she saw Chris' face pale a few shades, his eyes going just a fraction wider.

"Chris didn't come back in time to save Wyatt," Leo continued in that barely controlled growl. "He came back to stop Wyatt from becoming the Source of all evil!"

Silence rang out like a gunshot.

Piper felt her heart drop out of her chest. A little voice somewhere in the back of her mind understood the words and started whispering, "No, no, it can't be, no..." while another voice simply screamed.

Her eyes fell on Chris, who sat frozen, shocked. "You're lying," she breathed. Her voice rose to a scream, and she said, "That can't be; you're lying!"

"It was the Tribunal, Piper," said Leo, sounding like he understood her reaction perfectly. "They have the Circle of Truth. If they say that's what happened, then that's what happened."

"But there's no way!" said Phoebe, speaking up for the first time and looking as distressed as Piper felt. "This is _Wyatt_. We would never let him become – become something like _that_. We would stop it, no matter what else happens in the future!"

Paige nodded emphatically. "That's right," she said. "There has to be some kind of misunderstanding –"

"There's not." It was Chris' voice, slightly muffled through the hand that was trying to staunch the blood pouring from his nose. He still looked stunned, but he was adjusting quickly. He said, "I did come back to save Wyatt, I swear that's the truth. But I came back to save Wyatt from becoming evil, not from being hurt by evil. In the future, Wyatt grows up to take over the world, mortal and magical, and he uses his powers to destroy and terrorize. I came back to keep him from ever becoming that, from ever turning. But that's it. I'm still on your side. I still want the same things for Wyatt that you –"

"Chris," Piper interrupted, her voice coming out sharper than broken glass, "shut up. I don't want to hear a word out of you right now, or else I might release Leo's arm and let him shut you up himself. I can't believe a word you say anymore. Now, nod if you understand me."

For a moment, Chris looked even more shocked at her words than Leo's revelation. And then he closed his mouth. He gave a quick, jerking nod.

"Good," said Piper. "Leo, did the Tribunal say anything else? Anything that could prove it or... or help us? What exactly happened?"

For several long seconds, Leo seemed to struggle with himself, battling between anger and despair. Then, finally, the despair won. He closed his eyes and seemed to age ten years before their eyes. His shoulders sagged until he might have been using his frozen arm to keep him upright, the lines in his face deepening into shadowed crevices.

"They threatened to erase Wyatt once and for all if we fail to save him," he said, all life drained from his voice until nothing was left but the pain. "I told them we would never stand for that; that the last time they tried to erase him, you three remembered and fought it until you won. And then... then they said that they would just erase you, too. That it was worth tipping the balance of good and evil against you, as long as it prevented Wyatt from rising to power and taking over both magical and mortal worlds." His face screwed up with the agony of his words, until the anger returned, bitter and ugly. He shouted at Chris, flecks of spit flying, "Do you see what you've done, you bastard? You've put my entire family at risk! They would never be in this position if you'd just kept your goddamn mouth shut! They could all die now, because of you! Is this what you wanted? Is this worth it? Coming back to the past to destroy the Halliwells, _my family_? You know, I'm glad you're not a real whitelighter, so I can actually kill you once and for all, you son of a bitch!" His voice cracked on the last few words, and he screwed his eyes shut, fighting tears.

Chris had listened to Leo's explanation in the beginning, his face getting progressively paler and paler. The words seemed to hit him like bullets, every new sentence slamming into his chest and leaving a bloody, ragged wound.

"No," he said, his expression the exact picture of Piper's denial only moments ago, learning about Wyatt becoming the Source. He shook his head, apparently unable to adjust to this new development. "No, that's not... that's not... that wasn't part of the plan. I never…"

"Shut up," said Piper, unwilling to witness Chris' shock. "Just shut up, Chris. I don't want to hear a word from you."

She didn't want to be sympathetic. It was his fault. She had a right to be angry. If Leo was serious – and Piper didn't doubt for a second that he was – they would never have been in such a precarious position if he had just left Dean Winchester alone.

Was his life really worth all four of theirs? Her sisters, her _son_. Herself. They could all be erased from existence over this.

She couldn't believe they had been celebrating it only minutes ago.

"Piper, I swear I never –" Chris began, unheeding of her silence.

"Get out," she said.

Chris didn't move. A distant part of Piper didn't think she'd ever seen him so off his game, so openly surprised so many times in a span of only minutes.

Another part of her mind exploded like a brick of C4. "_I said get out!_ You've been lying to us about everything since the moment you got here! I have no reason to believe you've ever said a single honest word to us! And now you've put the lives of my family – my _son_, my _sisters_ – into the hands of the most powerful force in the magical world, and they've threatened to annihilate us because of _you_! Get out, and I don't ever want to see your face again! If Wyatt's in danger, we can save him without your help. _Now, GET OUT_!"

Chris, his face white and bloody and bruised, eyes wide, whispered, "I'm sorry," and orbed out.

Piper closed her eyes. With an almost absent flick of her fingers, she released Leo's arm, and he let it sink back to his side.

The silence seemed to rush in her ears like a waterfall.

Slowly, she sank back to the ground next to Wyatt's playpen, opened it, and let him crawl into her lap. She didn't know how long they sat there in silence, her fingers stroking her son's hair.

* * *

When Chris orbed out, Sam could only stand there, frozen for half a minute. This wasn't what he had wanted. If he had known that _this_ would be the cost of resurrecting Dean- well, it probably wouldn't have changed his mind, but he wouldn't have pushed Chris so hard to resurrect him. He would have waited until Chris managed to save Wyatt. And God, the look on Chris's face...if this cost him his mission, Sam knew the kid wouldn't survive it.

He glanced at Dean, and winced at the tangible waves of guilt rolling off him. This was going to kill his brother, too. He shifted closer to him and said in an undertone, "We should leave."

Dean nodded, and they slipped out of the house, unnoticed by the shell-shocked Charmed Ones. Silently, they got into the Impala. When they could no longer see the house in the rear view mirror, Dean said in a hollow voice, "You should have left me in there."

Sam jerked where he was sitting. "Don't you say that," he said heatedly. "You think I'd let anything stop me from-"

"Sam, the only good witches I've ever met might get _erased_ because my little brother decided to raise me from hell!"

"No one knew that would happen, not even Chris," Sam argued. "And now it's done, and it can't be change. The only thing we can do is help Chris on his mission."

Dean stiffened at Chris's name. "We should probably check on the kid," he said, in an off-hand tone that didn't fool Sam for a second. "He looked like the walking dead when he...left."

"It's called orbing, and I don't know where he is, I guess we could try P3," Sam babbled worriedly. "We'll need to find a motel room close by to stay at. This is going to kill him, Dean. He was already barely getting any rest with the nightmares and the insomnia, and now this. I need to stay here and keep an eye on him, it's the least I can do. If you want to hunt-"

"No," Dean interrupted tersely. "You're right. We have to stay. We can find hunts within the city for the next few months."

They drove to the nightclub in silence. Sam was out of the car the second they pulled into the parking lot. He made a beeline for the back room and barged in without even bothering to knock. He stopped short; worry and disappointment curdling in his gut when he realized the room was empty. And then he noticed the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.

"Chris, are you in there?" he called, striding towards the bathroom. When there was no response, he warned, "I'm coming in."

He pushed the door all the way open. Chris was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the shower stall. His face was coated with dried blood, making his pale skin stand out all the more starkly. His eyes were completely blank.

"Hey," Sam said cautiously, crouching before him. "Chris? Are you okay?"

Chris didn't move; his eyes seeming to look right through Sam. Sam scanned his face with an expert eye, and let out a relieved sigh when he saw that Leo hadn't managed to break his nose.

"Chris," he said again, and again it was as if Chris hadn't even heard him. Was he in shock? He exchanged a worried look with Dean, who was hovering awkwardly at the door. "Chris!" he tried again, grabbing Chris's shoulder, and the next thing he knew he was flying back, an unseen force pinning him against the opposite wall.

Dean rushed forward with an angry "What the hell!" but Sam cried frantically, "No, Dean, it's okay- Chris, it's just me! Snap out of it!"

"What-?" Chris gasped as he came out of his daze, and then he spotted Sam. "Fuck," he muttered, and released him abruptly.

"What the hell did you just do to my brother?" Dean demanded, striding forward angrily. He froze in shock when Chris shrank away from him with unmistakable fear.

Sam grimaced as he realized what the younger man had flashed back to. He crouched beside him again. He had never seen Chris this disoriented before. "Hey," he said softly, fighting to keep the worry out of his voice. "He's not a demon, remember? And he never will be, thanks to you. Calm down."

He realized that it was the wrong thing to say when he saw pain and guilt flash through Chris's eyes. "I really fucked up," he said hollowly. "If they die-"

"That is _not_ going to happen," Sam interrupted. "I promise you, we'll find whatever turned him and stop it from happening."

"They threw me out of the house and said they never wanted to see me again," Chris said, his eyes dark with anguish. "Without the Charmed Ones' help, I have no hope of finding this demon. It was already like searching for a needle in the stack of needles, and now-"

"Chris, we'll figure out a way," Sam insisted. "You're not alone in this anymore. But you need to stop worrying about this tonight. You look half dead. You need to sleep."

Chris flinched away from him as if he'd been slapped. _"Don't,"_ he said sharply. "You don't get to do that. You're not him. Just because you saw-"

"It's not about that," Sam shot back. "Even if I'm not him yet, I'm still your friend, and I'm still concerned about you. And I'm also _right._ You can't even get up, can you? You wouldn't have been sitting on the floor so long if you could."

Chris dropped his eyes. "I just need some glucose, and I'll be fine," he muttered.

"No, what you need is something solid to eat and six straight hours of sleep," Sam said, getting to his feet. "Now come on."

He held out a hand to Chris, who waved it away. "Sam, just- can't you just leave me alone?" he said, exasperated. "If I eat something I'll it throw it right back up again. And if I sleep-" He stopped abruptly, as if he had said more than he had intended.

"I'll stay here," Sam said softly. "I can wake you up if you have nightmares." He had done that for Chris before he knew about any of this.

But something snapped in Chris's eyes. "Fuck you, Sam," he said angrily. "I just had to watch you commit suicide for the second time in my life! What the hell do you think I'm going to be dreaming about? You are the _last person_ I want to see right now!"

Sam stepped back, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean, white-faced and rigid at what he had heard, but he couldn't focus on that right now. He hadn't realized how painful his own presence must be to Chris. The thought that he would be in his nightmares...

"Chris," he said helplessly, not knowing what to say.

Chris sighed heavily, and all the fight seemed to go out of him. "Just get me the glucose and go, okay?" he said tiredly. "I'll sleep, I promise. I just- please, Sam. I need to be alone right now."

It was the "please" that got to him. He had never heard Chris sound so defeated before. Much as he hated it, he knew his presence was only making things worse.

"Fine," he said, and walked out of the room.

…

TBC…


End file.
